


Assume The Position

by LadyInStarlight



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Dust-Typical Sexual Content (Hazbin Hotel), Biting, Choking, Dubious Consent, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Horny Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Horny Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Possessive Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Power Dynamics, Probably Toxic, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, Tentacles, yeah it’s for sure toxic smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyInStarlight/pseuds/LadyInStarlight
Summary: Angel and Alastor had an arrangement...It happened infrequently.He knew that well enough at this point. It happened infrequently. Alastor had his moods and there was no telling when the fancy to fuck might strike the Radio Demon. Angel had learned, after a year of highs and lows, of intense rejection and flirtatious teasing, to let the hurtful comments roll off his back; to ignore the stinging insults and smiling mockery; to just wait patiently for when that mood struck him. Eventually, it always did, and when it happened Alastor would come to him, as always, with the same proposition and set of conditions.After a year of the same, Angel decides to stop playing the game. How will the Radio Demon react?The answer is ‘not well’.‘Not well’ is the answer.Lots of smut ensues. Dubious consent to some of it ahead.
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), RadioDust
Comments: 203
Kudos: 246





	1. Assume the Position

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Alastor is a dick. Some dubious consent lies within. If ya’ll have read my stuff before, you know the toxic mess you’re stumbling into.
> 
> For Updates and general nonsense, feel free to follow me on Twitter @LadyInStarlight

It happened infrequently. 

He knew that well enough at this point. It happened infrequently. Alastor had his moods and there was no telling when the fancy to fuck might strike the Radio Demon. Angel had learned, after a year of highs and lows, of intense rejection and flirtatious teasing, to let the hurtful comments roll off his back; to ignore the stinging insults and smiling mockery; to just wait patiently for when that mood struck him. Eventually, it always did, and when it happened Alastor would come to him, as always, with the same proposition and set of conditions.

Proposition: One night only for Alastor to use Angel’s hole as he saw fit. The Radio Demon simply needed to see to the irritating physical urges of his own irksome body, and there need be nothing more to it.

Conditions: Angel must lie on his stomach, posterior propped up and thighs open wide. He would keep his hands to himself, using the lower pair to spread his cheeks. No talking. No complaining. No telling anyone. 

The first time it happened, he nearly “ruined” everything by trying to tease and flirt with Alastor during the lead up to the act. He quickly came to realize that if he spoke, Alastor would turn on his heel and leave the room. Silence was golden. Silence got him a fat dick plowing into his asshole. Silence got him claws digging into his hips. Silence even sometimes got him teeth sinking into his neck.

Nothing would ever get him kisses or caresses though, and with each passing tryst that fact became more and more unbearable. He felt as though he were losing part of himself during this whole process, bits of his heart shattering with each rough fuck; with each long, lonely silence that followed. But what could he say? He was a whore, after all, and Alastor paid him well enough for his discretion. Very well. Ridiculously well. 

That proved to be the perfect way out of this heartbreaking cycle. Alastor paid him so well, in fact, that those funds, combined with Charlie’s salary, enabled him to pay back every cent he owed Valentino, and then some. He bought his freedom fair and fucking square; Tricked the bastard into naming a price and went over it. He… left the club with a few more bruises than he would like, but it was worth it. He didn’t need to slut, dance, or whore if he didn’t want to.

He had agency.

And that’s how he got to this point. Angel sat at the hotel bar, sipping a glass of champagne after toasting with Husk. He felt happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time. He wore a slinky, thin dress of crimson that flattered his form and clung in all the right places. He did his hair and makeup just for the hell of it. He laughed loudly, flirted warmly, and smiled broadly.

A cheerful, pitchy voice cut through his laughter like a record scratching to a halt. “Angel, my effeminate fellow, I see you are in quite high spirits today!” That drawling transatlantic accent. He didn’t need to turn to recognize one of Alastor’s masterful appearances out of thin fucking air. He didn’t need to look at the Radio Demon to know he would be smiling that strange, broad smile; a smile that balanced on the fence between charming and insidious. He knew. He kept his eyes averted and tossed back the flute of champagne, letting the rest of the light golden liquid tingle its way down his throat. “Why I haven’t seen so much bubbly since my live wire days attending ritzy speakeasies during prohibition. Tell me, gentlemen, what’s the occasion?”

“Pretty boy here bought his freedom today,” Husk said in a raspy grumble, shrugging and taking a large swig from the bottle. “Any excuse to open a bottle for me.” 

“Awe, Husky. Ya think I’m pretty?” Angel purred in his most silky, flirtatious voice, leaning over the bar to give the grumpy cat demon a peak down the front of his dress. He could feel Alastor’s blazing red gaze on him, could feel the other man moving closer as he magicked a bottle into being and refilled Angel’s glass. A clawed hand rested on his shoulder and firmly pushed him back down until his ass made contact with the bar stool. A tight squeeze. A subtle threat. 

“Attaboy!” Alastor boomed, slapping Angel on the back for emphasis. Fucking ouch? His cheery, echoing voice paired with a round of applause from the mic head of his cane. “This certainly calls for a celebration of the highest order. Husker! I see you’re already half seas over on hooch, but do run along, won’t you? Find the ladies, if you can, and have them meet us down here in, say, an hour’s time? We shall turn this joint into a regular den of ossification. Hurry now! On the double!”

It wasn’t a request, and Husk didn’t bother to treat it like one, slinking out of the room and grumbling under his breath. Angel watched him go, heart hammering in his chest. He had been through this shit enough times to know what was coming, had every word prepared and rehearsed so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. He felt… stupid… for being so nervous. The Radio Demon, in all likelihood, would brush off the rejection without so much as a blink.

“Speaking of your deplorable set of skills, I would like to discuss the possibility of setting up a “session” tonight,” Alastor said, casually fixing the sleeve slipping off one of Angel’s shoulders. “The usual terms apply, but wear this.” 

Angel shook his head. “Sorry, Daddy,” he said, sipping the fresh glass of champagne in front of him. “Bank’s closed, as they say.”

Silence.

“Pardon?” Alastor gripped and spun Angel’s stool so the two men were facing one other; nose to nose. His smile never wavered. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“No. Ya did,” Angel said, watching the Radio Demon fill up his glass once again. “As much as it pains me t’ say, ya gotta find a new hole t’ release all that pent up bullshit ya got goin’ on. I ain’t whorin anymore. Wanna find myself a fella. Somethin’ real. Maybe even take this whole redemption thing seriously.”

The laughter caught him off guard. Harsh, disdainful, and mocking laughter. He knew it shouldn’t cut him like a knife, but he had finally, FINALLY acquired some semblance of freedom, and he now hoped… there might be the chance he was worth something. 

He sighed and looked away from the Radio Demon, sliding off the bar stool. “Goodnight, Smiles,” he said. Today he didn’t feel like arguing or screaming. He didn’t feel like getting into a bickering match or cursing out the arrogant prick. 

“Oh, no no no, my dear fellow, we are not quite done speaking yet,” Alastor said. Claws sank into one of Angel’s lower sets of arms and he found himself stumbling along as the Radio Demon tugged him to the couch, shoving him onto one of the plush cushions unceremoniously. He could only gape at the man standing over him, all dapper and grinning with that ever-present bounce in his step. This cocky fucking asshole. “Now, explain to me what exactly it is you require in this imaginary future ‘fella’ of yours.” 

“Kind. Affectionate. Gentle.” Angel said, breath hitching as Alastor reached down and moved the hem of the dress up his thighs with a deft gloved hand, humming to himself. The soft fabric sliding along his fur combined with those dangerous red eyes watching his every move had him trembling. He had to tell him to stop. He had to say something. Anything.

The words were stuck in his throat.

The Radio Demon’s smile somehow widened, the corners of his eyes pinching upwards as he flicked the fabric of the dress up over Angel’s hips, revealing a black thong housing the spider’s rapidly rising pink-and-white-striped rod. “Go on,” he said, casually removing his gloves. His claws glinted in the warm evening light.

“Someone… who wants me fa more… than my body,” Angel said, his voice coming out in a whisper now. His fluffy chest heaved with each panting breath, cheeks flushing. Hot. He felt hot. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a whimper as Alastor ripped off his thong using those sharp claws and chucked the flimsy piece of fabric aside. The Radio Demon had never… looked at him like this. Face down. Ass up. That was their whole deal. Rough anal. No touching. No kissing. No foreplay.

He jumped and opened his eyes wide when a hand wrapped around his dick and began stroking it. Base to tip. Base to tip. The man’s thumb teased the rounded head of Angel’s cock, swiping over the sensitive, weeping slit. His pressure varied, as did his speed, but there was always a rhythm. “Ahhh gnnn nnnn.” Angel covered his mouth with one of his hands, trying to stifle the little sounds that he usually muffled into a pillow. He noticed vaguely that Alastor had sheathed his claws. He hadn’t realized the man could extend and retract them. His hips thrusted pathetically into the waiting palm. “Someone who likes me…”

Tears stung the corners of his eyes. While one of the Radio demon’s hands had been stroking his cock, the other pressed the head of that damn cane against his tightened hole. No. No. He had to stop this now. He couldn’t just give Alastor what he wanted. He pressed his thighs together tight, but any resolve he’d been clinging to dissolved when the egg-shaped mic began vibrating. His back arched, his thighs fell open, and he moaned loudly. Unabashedly.

And then it was all gone as quickly as it appeared. The hand, the microphone cane, and every last ounce of Angel’s dignity.

He expected to find Alastor walking away, but the radio demon was still there, looming over him, leaning down and arching expectant brows. “Angel, if you please—?”

Assume the position. 

“No.” Angel finally managed to get the word out, the one that had been evading him. Tears trailed down his cheeks, probably taking mascara with them. He tugged down his dress, clamped his thighs together. He would salvage some of his fucking dignity of it killed him. “Nah, Smiles. I think I’m gonna hold out fa someone better. Not some ugly fuckin prude mentally stuck in the last century. Ya wanna fuck somethin’, well, I can give ya the names of some gals in the biz who might show ya a good time. But my ass is strictly off fucking limits.”

Silence.

Angel saw the shift in the way Alastor cocked his head to the other side, the slightest downward curl to his smile that turned it almost into a snarl, and the static that hissed in the air. The Radio Demon was growing irritated. Angel wasn’t particularly surprised. He had become accustomed to certain facets of Alastor’s personality. He knew that he had, in some ways, become a ‘habit’ for the Radio Demon, and Alastor, for all his talk of boredom, fucking hated change. They had been sleeping together for a fucking year at this point, always on the Radio Demon’s terms. Of course he would be a bit irritated the convenient hole he used for dealing with his ‘unfortunate’ physical needs was being ripped from him.

Insulting the bristling Radio Demon would only lead to a brutal maiming, Angel realized, watching Alastor’s teeth grow longer and sharper. “Sorry. Sorry. Daddy, chill,” he said, reaching out to touch the other man but stopping himself when those red eyes shot him a murderous look. Don’t touch Alastor. Be touched by Alastor. Right. Alastor was stepping back, turning on his heel. Angel felt his heart fall in his stomach for some stupid fucking reason. He couldn’t stop himself from saying: “Ya know what? One last time. I didn’t give ya any notice. One last time, Smiles. Do ya want me now or later? Just know, afta’ this, yer on ya own, cause I ain’t fuckin a fella fa money from here on out. I want… ya know… a relationship.” But Alastor’s mood had passed. He could see it in the way the Radio Demon’s shoulders stiffened at the offer. Angel threw all four of his hands up. Well, there was no fucking winning with this bastard. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Or not. Whateva’.”

How did he always manage to end every interaction with the Radio Demon having lost the upper hand? He was tipsy on champagne, hard, and his asshole ached for the man’s cock. Wonderful. Just fucking swell. 

Unfortunately the night wasn’t over yet.

Alastor had announced there would be a small celebration, and dammit if the Radio Demon didn’t clearly plan to deliver, even if the whole thing was dripping with 10 layers of irony and malice. As Angel stumbled to his room, his eyes widened in horror to see furniture moving of its own accord, to see shadows hanging decorations, and Nifty cleaning every surface. No no no.

He bolted into the bedroom, slammed the door shut, and groaned the second he saw himself in his bathroom mirror. From classy bitch to hot, slutty mess in ten minutes flat. Mascara running down his flushed cheeks, underwear just… missing (poor Nifty would find them), a wet patch of precum on his favorite dress. “God fucking dammit!” He shouted, ripping off the stupid soiled fabric and sinking into the tub after filling it with scalding water. You know what? He wasn’t gonna play. He just wasn’t. 

He ignored the light knock an hour later. He sat in bed, dressed in shorts and an oversized shirt, flipping through a magazine. He had his hair wrapped in a towel. Nope. Not playing. Silence. A soft chatter of conversation. A booming familiar voice bouncing down the hall and shooing the others along, chattering loudly with playful words and assurances. A harder, firmer knock.

Silence. 

The lock turned. The door flew open. Alastor sashayed into the room as if invading Angel’s personal space and privacy were the most natural thing in the world. The door, Angel noticed, shut behind the man. 

He turned the page of his magazine. 

“Angel, my effeminate fellow—“

“No,” Angel said simply. “Call it off. I don’t wanna play.” 

“Why, whatever do you mean? The hotel residents are ecstatic to celebrate your latest victory. A year in and you’re finally ready to take ‘redemption’ seriously! Ha! Charlie could not be more thrilled!” Alastor said, trotting up beside Angel and plucking the magazine from his hands. “You are, after all, her longest and most difficult project. It would be a shame to disappoint her.”

Dont listen to him. Don’t let him bait you. Don’t let him get in your head.

“She’ll survive,” Angel said. “Alastor, it’s impolite t’ walk into anotha’ person’s bedroom uninvited, ain’t it?” He looked at the Radio Demon, smiling as sweet as he could manage. “Now I know fa certain yer mama taught ya t’ be a real gentleman, didn’t she?” 

He knew he won when he saw the other man’s smile twitch. The courteous smiling apology that followed made him smirk, but Alastor was just as quick on his feet. “Why, of course! My most humble apologies, my friend. How very uncharacteristically rude of me! I simply assumed after our last conversation that your bedroom was still quite open to me for ‘one last time’ as you put it?”

Angel winced.

Fuck this.

“Why are ya bein’ such a bitch about this, Smiles?” Angel snapped, rolling his eyes and grabbing the Radio Demon by the bow tie. He jerked him forward and kissed him HARD, feeling that stiff, surprised body go rigid against his own. Then he let go and pushed him back. “See? Ya can’t even fuckin kiss me. What the fuck do I get outa this ‘arrangement’? It doesn’t even matter if I fuckin cu— mmmph.”

The kiss, desperate and passionate, caught Angel off guard. Deep, sloppy, and ravenous. Tongues dancing. A hand cupped one of his fluffy tits, burrowing into the white fur to find and pinch a hard nipple. He expected the kiss to stop, but Alastor was on top of him, kissing him more and deeper. He had to remind himself to breathe. Breathe. 

He felt lightheaded. His fingers tangled in Alastor’s red hair. No static. Just kisses. That stupid cane began playing smooth jazz and he felt himself melt. Fuck. Panting. Trembling. Hot. So hot.

Alastor pulled back, eyes wild. Panicked. Alastor wasn’t in control, Angel realized. He wasn’t in control in the fucking slightest. He bit back a gleeful laugh. That raw, desperate look of bewilderment was just… priceless. “Alright, so ya like kissin me. We learned that t’day,” Angel teased, watching those strange red eyes narrow at his amusement. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Smiles.”

Alastor’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He seemed stressed, ears twitching, smile strained and close-lipped. They kissed again, longer this time, until Angel drew back. “Ya wanna fuck me? Well, I get t’ cum first. Got it? So either get t’ work or get lost.”

Those ears flattened. Angel sighed. He turned on his side, facing away from the Radio Demon. Alastor cleared his throat. “Angel,” he said. “I didn’t say no. Please just be… more specific?”

Angel blinked, sat up, and stared at him. Oh for fuck’s sake.

He pointed down at his own aching cock crammed in those soft flannel shorts. “Al, I’m askin ya t’ suck me off. Avoid usin’ yer teeth.” The Radio Demon considered this and hesitated. Angel could see his brain and his libido shutting down from a mile away. “Too much too soon, handsome? Well, ya ain’t gettin’ t’fuck me ‘till ya get me off, but we can end here fa t’day. No need t’ go any further.”

It happened so quickly Angel didn’t have time to react. One minute Al was giving him what he thought was a searing kiss goodbye and the next he was naked from the waist down with his thighs thrown over the Radio Demon’s shoulders as the other man sucked, licked, and deep throated his striped cock. Angel thrashed and trembled, bucking desperately into the waiting mouth. His eyes glazed, lips parting, as he tangled his fingers in that crimson hair. He felt Alastor’s hands pin his hips to the mattress, holding them steady in one place.

He couldn’t think straight. The pleasure kept building. That hot mouth, that dancing tongue, and the inherent danger of putting his dick in the Radio Demon’s smiling mouth were just too fucking much. And then one of the hands left his hip and he felt a long slender digit push into his tight puckered hole, breaching the entrance and massaging the part inside him that completely undid his already shattering control. “Smiles, I-I’m gonna—“ he started to say, but it was already too late. He came ribbons of hot seed right in the Radio Demon’s mouth. 

Silence. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

Angel panted, head spinning, and tried to peak shyly at the other man.

He never expected Alastor to swallow.

… or to add a second finger.

The Radio Demon sat up, looking down at him with heavily lidded eyes. Those two fingers fucked Angel’s hole rather roughly, scissoring inside him. Staring up at Alastor, feeling the man preparing him for his cock, all Angel could think about was just how much he wanted to prolong this moment. Al had never… well, he supposed the Radio Demon had his own selfish reasons for making exceptions tonight. The fingers eventually slid out of him. 

An expectant arch of a brow. A malicious widening of that strange smile, all teeth once more. Angel could read the request loud and clear: Assume the position. The control, or perhaps the illusion of control, melted away and Angel could feel himself beginning to tremble with frustration and anticipation all at the same time. 

Angel bit his lip and quietly rolled onto his stomach. He propped his ass up in the air, spreading his thighs and reaching back with his lower set of hands to pull apart his cheeks, exposing his hole and presenting himself obediently for the impatient Radio Demon. 

It always hurt at first. Sure, Angel had taken his fair share of giant cocks as a porn star, and while Alastor’s meaty rod wasn’t the largest he had come across, it could still stretch asshole out to its limits and make him whimper each time. He’d grown accustomed to the way Alastor pressed the thick, bulbous head against his sphincter, the way slammed forward and filled him in one powerful thrust that always made Angel scream, and the way he moved so brutally hard and fast.

But regardless, even though he was accustomed to every move, every thrust, he still found himself biting and moaning into the pillow when the Radio Demon rammed into him. Angel felt like a bitch in heat, his own leaking cock left to rub itself between the sheets and his stomach uselessly. He reached down to touch it with some hesitation, thinking perhaps Alastor might allow him to touch himself this time, but a low guttural growl made him stop in his tracks. Okay. Business as usual then. Mr. Control Freak was back in charge.

Claws dug into his hips. The fat rod slid in and out of him like a hot piston, angled to ram deep inside his slutty hole. Did Alastor know he was hitting his prostate? Did he know Angel felt lightheaded every time they did this? That was the trouble with catching feelings: It heightened every pleasure and made every nerve in his body hypersensitive. 

He didn’t expect Alastor’s hand to wrap around his cock and begin stroking him in time with the thrusts. That was a new kind of bliss; one that made him see stars as he came for the second time. The feeling of hot jizz shooting inside him and then overflowing from his hole as the rod slid from of him with a wet pop, also came as a familiarity. Alastor always fucked him raw and came inside him. Always. 

And after… he felt empty, used, and sad.

He closed his eyes and sighed shakily, letting all four of his arms finally relax as he hid his face in the pillow, waiting for the Radio Demon to leave him alone to his own devices. He heard Alastor get up, heard the click-clack of his shoes moving around the room. He heard… water running? 

He blinked and looked up. Alastor collected him, wordlessly, and carried him into the shower. 

Naked in the shower.

They were naked…In the shower… Together.

Angel felt like he might be in a dream; his eyes wide as he lathered his body with suds while facing away from the Radio Demon. He glanced back at Alastor, who seemed altogether uninterested with him now that the necessary act had been completed and his irksome bodily lusts sated. “Smiles, ya don’t hafta—“ he flushed and searched for the words. “It’s fine, I mean. It was the last time anyway, so…”

“Not it’s not,” Alastor said simply, turning up the heat of the powerful spray raining down on them. 

Angel blinked. “What? I mean, come on, Al. I know ya don’t like change, but seriously it ain’t like ya particularly like me or anythin’. Yer convenience ain’t gonna outweigh my future happiness.”

“Angel, my understanding is you want a beau. Am I correct?” Alastor said. 

“It ain’t that simple, but yeah,” Angel said, rolling his eyes and letting the hot spray rinse away his coiled up stress. “I want a fella. A real relationship.”

“And what does that entail?” Alastor said, shooting him a sidelong glance. 

“I don’t fuckin know. Dates? Affection? Love?” Angel bit his lower lip. “Never had one before, so I’m just basin’ what I know off movies and Charlie and Vaggie.” He couldn’t help but laugh a little bitterly. “The only stable couple I know.”

Alastor’s ears twitched. “Outings would be manageable,” he mused. “I am frequently in want of a companion and we have similar tastes in food and certain forms of music. I have seen you dance in the old way, so that is something. Oh! And you are very appealing when you have a gun in your hands. As far as affection goes, I enjoyed all that we did today, though it was out of my comfort zone. Kissing, especially. I liked the kissing. Love… on the other hand… well, lust and companionship combined should suffice.”

“Al, what the fuck are ya on about?” Angel smiled and shook his head. “I just got outta a contract with one overlord. I ain’t getting’ involved—“

Angel’s back hit the shower wall. The kiss swallowed his words as Alastor lifted him by the hips, wrapping Angel’s legs around his waist. Angel yelped as the thick and ready rod plunged back inside him. Twice?! Twice in one day?! The fact that he could see Alastor while the other man fucked him, could kiss and cling to him, had Angel in pieces. If Alastor disliked all his moaning and panting, he showed no indication of it. He knew the Radio Demon wasn’t particularly revved up at the moment, so why was he pushing himself? Why was he so fixed on keeping this thing they had going?

The dick ramming into him quieted his racing mind.

Okay, so Alastor made some very convincing points, he would give him that. Very convincing points. Sure, the Radio Demon was basically just using his dick to puppet Angel, but the Spider couldn’t say he minded all that much.

Still…

“Sometimes ya go weeks without wantin’ t’ fuck,” Angel said, panting. “O-our libidos don’t exactly m-match up.” Probably not the most sound argument to make while being railed in the shower, but he knew it had to be said. 

“I have ideas for when such situations occur,” Alastor said simply. “Never you fear.”

Another kiss. He heard someone knock on his bedroom door, saw the malicious smile spread on Alastor’s lips, and felt his stomach drop. The bastard rammed into him harder and faster, pinching and twisting one of his nipples. “Ahhhhh ahhhhnnnn nnnnn!”

Wonderful. Fucking wonderful. 

“I’m not goin out there after this,” he hissed, eyes darting to the bedroom door. 

“Why ever not?” Alastor asked with mock confusion, feigning a gasp. “There will be more champagne. Perhaps a song or two.”

“I’m not playin’ this game of yours…” he started to say, but lips tickled along his throat and his cheeks blazed. “Alright, one hour. I’ll go down and make nice fa one hour.”

He had the feeling Alastor would be convincing him to do a lot of stupid fucking shit in the future. Ah well, maybe it would be interesting. Alastor might be playing the puppeteer, but Angel had seen that look in his eyes after they first kissed; that raw desperate expression. And Alastor was here, after all, in his room, making compromises for HIS tight ass.

Maybe he could test this little shadow of control he had over the Radio Demon. He raked his claws down Alastor’s back, heard the man hiss and groan. He saw those eyes glaze as he kissed the Radio Demon and clamped his ass around his cock. “But if I’m gonna go down there, ya gotta wait on me hand and foot, don’t ya?”

“Yes yes.” Alastor groaned, pressing his forehead against Angel’s shoulder. “Of course, my dear.. Of course.” 

Oh, this was going to be so much fucking fun. 

So. Much. Fucking. Fun.


	2. The Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Dubious Consent, Drunk sex, mean and hurtful insults, choking, Alastor being a toxic dick, and Angel being a fucking Queen.
> 
> Also triggering dress for anyone who has ever worn a fucking dress like this. Fuck this dress.
> 
> For Updates and general nonsense, feel free to follow me on Twitter @LadyInStarlight

Chapter 2

One hour. He only needed to make nice with the rest of the hotel guests for one fucking hour. Sure, Alastor had agreed to wait on him hand and foot during the course of this short, impromptu celebration, but he knew the other man never put on a performance that wasn’t at least in part a malicious and deplorable trick.

Angel planned on humoring whatever little game the Radio Demon was playing, but he wouldn’t walk into a trap unprepared. He had watched the man bend and now he wanted to test how much he could… well, for lack of a better word he would use the phrase “get away with”… before Alastor snapped. 

The problem was, Alastor’s hyper-specific ticks and quirks still remained mostly a mystery to Angel. He didn’t fully understand the other man, and this put him at a steep disadvantage. 

At first he considered donning his mafia digs to be safe from any wardrobe-malfunction related embarrassments, but then he veered in the complete opposite direction. No, he would be in control of what he chose to show off, and he would let Alastor stew in discomfort if that happened to be the thing that annoyed the Radio Demon tonight. Dressed in a robe as he dried his hair with a towel, he grabbed a little black dress that seemed fairly innocuous at first glance, hanging it on his closet door to wear after he finished with his hair and makeup. 

The Radio Demon, standing in the center of Angel’s bedroom and tugging on a new pair of gloves, barely glanced at the dress. Good. Let it be a surprise. Angel scanned the room, eyes darting in a quick survey, calculating the damage to his sheets. It seemed Alastor had taken care of any mess, at least, though he would never quite trust the other man’s magic touch. 

“Ya gonna keep yer word, got it Smiles?” Angel said, taking a seat and making speedy work of his hair and makeup. He had more than a few tricks for throwing together a quick, but appealing, look. You had to get creative between dance sessions, video shoots, and johns; and he had perfected his technique down to each concurrent flick of his four wrists.

“Ab-so-lute-ly!” Alastor boomed, bouncing up behind him with that disarming, too-wide smile pinned firmly on his face. Angel wondered if he was irritated with himself for agreeing to Angel’s request. Most likely, but the bastard would find a way to twist it to his advantage, no doubt. Angel was, at least, mentally prepared for that. Alastor continued, reflection watching Angel through the vanity mirror. “I am, after all, a man of my word; and what a fascinating spectacle this is! What a sight to behold! Why, I have never observed you getting yourself dolled up before, Angel. You certainly hit on all sixes, my dear fellow. A fantastic synchronic performance.”

“Yeah, well, plenty-a arms plus practice makes perfect,” Angel said with a laugh, smile sticking when he saw Alastor’s ears perk up at his use of playful alliteration. 

“Positively pleasingly put!” Alastor purred, leaning down so their reflections were side by side in the glass mirror. He could feel the heat of the other man’s face so close to his own, their cheeks nearly touching. Two gloved hands rested on his shoulders, pinching ever so slightly; nails almost cutting into the skin. “You will have my full, undivided attention tonight. I promise.”

Well, that sounded like a fuckin threat if he ever heard one. He finished applying his lipstick and, on some likely-stupid, utterly mischievous impulse, planted his lips in a wet smacking kiss against the Radio Demon’s cheek, using it like a blotting tissue. “Thanks, handsome.”

Alastor immediately straightened upright; his gloved hands tucked behind his rigid back. Angel could swear he heard the faintest buzz of radio static, saw the faintest flush on those gray-tinted cheeks. Oh, someone was fucking flustered! He resisted the urge to smirk. The feeling of superiority was short lived, however. As soon as his eyes strayed back to the vanity mirror, he became privy to a tendril of black shadow encircling his throat. It squeezed, cutting off his air supply with a grip that felt like a hand choking him. For the briefest of moments, he felt a spike of panic. He couldn’t breath. The pleasure of that burning, helpless feeling made him dizzy, but the shadow was gone almost as soon as it appeared, and he found himself left only with the faintest flush of color around his neck to suggest anything had ever been amiss. That, and an all-too-familiar heat pooling in his crotch. 

Why were his survival instincts so twisted? So ass-backwards? While normal people had instincts that compelled them to ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ in the face of danger; his, apparently, told him to ‘fuck’. Alastor’s reflection, standing almost innocently behind him with that twisted grin, made prolonged eye contact. His gaze seemed to say ‘I am in control,’ and Angel felt the stirrings of something competitive and hungry brewing inside him. 

Well, they would see how long THAT lasted. 

“Hands and lips to yourself, my dear fellow. Do respect the five foot rule,” Alastor purred in a chastising, sing-song voice, but then those sharp eyes considered their reflections in the mirror, the brilliant red imprint of a kiss stamped on his cheek, before adding: “Your color choice, I must say, is impeccable!”

Angel let out a shaky breath. “Ha! O-of course,” he said, putting the finishing touches on his face with hands that were, to his dismay, not quite as steady as they had been just moments before. “Ova’ 70 years in this shithole and I’ve got myself a few talents outside just fuckin’ and suckin’. That’s yer shade, Smiles.”

“Hooey! What modesty! Certainly you’ve acquired more than just ‘a few’ talents. Why, you have talent in spades!” Alastor laughed as he spoke, spinning in his heel and bending to pat the head of a nervous Fat Nuggets. The little pig had, at some point, wandered out of the walk-in closet to sniff cautiously at this invasive newcomer. Apparently, the sudden movement and Alastor’s feral smile were more than enough to make him regret his decision. Bravery depleted, Fat Nuggets squealed, swiveled, and bolted back into the closet. 

“Oh, baby. It’s alright!” Angel stood and hurried after the small animal, scooping up the quivering bundle and shushing him. “Shhh shh. He won’t hurt ya, Nuggs. Papa’s got ya.” He tossed an awkward smile back at Alastor who watched him with thinly veiled amusement. “Sorry, Smiles. He’s a bit nervous around, well, anyone but me and Cherri. I guess ya can add bein’ an emotional support demon t’ the list of my bizarre fuckin’ talents.” 

“Mmm,” Alastor mused. The Radio Demon tilted his head and looped an arm around Angel’s waist, drawing him in close. So much for the 5 foot rule. The tiny pig squirmed and screamed in Angel’s arms at the unwelcome proximity to those smiling dagger teeth. “I’d say his sense of self preservation is particularly impressive given his ‘papa’s’ lack thereof. But I suppose he better understands that he is LUNCH.”

Oh fuck no. 

Angel offered up his sweetest smile, setting the little pig down so he could flee back into the comfort of the closet. “Alastor,” he breathed, peering at the other man through long lashes. He saw the way Alastor stiffened at this perceived flirtation, but continued, leaning down and whispering in one of those plush red ears, “If ya eva’ threaten my baby again, not only will I dump yer sorry ass, but I’ll dismember ya in ways that would make a cannibal fuckin’ blush. Ya know, they say venison is an aphrodisiac. I might wanna find out if that’s true. So don’t fuckin’ push it, Smiles.”

The slightest widening of those wild eyes. The smallest twitch of an ear. The faintest, almost inaudible, intake of breath. The briefest flash of that raw, desperate hunger across smiling features. These were the only signs Angel received that his words had any impact— any weight— but he saw them. He was sure he saw them. 

Alastor laughed loudly, grip around Angel’s waist tightening. His clawed hands, despite the gloves, dug through the thick material of Angel’s white plush robe to graze his hip. “Ha ha ha! My dear fellow, you are all balled up! I don’t think you know WHO you are threatening right now, but no need to cast a kitten, I was merely jesting!” He said, pinching one of Angel’s cheeks. “Now, I think we have chattered for long enough, don’t you? Get yourself dressed and we’ll be on our merry way!”

Angel’s eyes strayed to the little black dress and he repressed a smirk. 

He and Cherri called it by many names: ‘the fucky dress’, ‘how the fuck is this happening’, ‘the little dress that could… become a fuckin shirt’, and ‘butt boobs’ to name a few. It always started the night at a regular length, even a ‘conservative’ length by Angel’s standards. Mid thigh. However, where it started and where it ended were two vastly different places. The dress had a strange habit of riding up after about 5-10 minutes of wear, just barely exposing 1-2 inches of the wearer’s ass cheeks. If he really did have Alastor’s full attention, he might as well use the opportunity to tease the Radio Demon a bit, and he didn’t mind a little indecent exposure so long as he was in control. 

Was he planning on purposefully irritating Alastor by wearing a dress that would make the prude bristle with indignation? Of fucking course he was! 

Why walk into the Radio Demon’s trap empty handed?

Angel walked into the little last-minute party fashionably late, certainly, but apparently Alastor’s shadows, Husk’s alcoholism, and Charlie’s optimism that he just needed “a couple more minutes” to get ready kept spirits high. 

The place was too decorated. That was the first thing he noticed. Streamers. Balloons. A “congratulations” banner. He resisted the urge to stomp on Alastor’s foot. This fucking bastard. A quiet drink with a few pals, that was all this called for, but he had known The Radio Demon planned to make a game of his ‘step towards redemption,’ a subtle mockery of Charlie’s idealism wrapped up in an overblown party. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and mentally counted to 10 to keep himself from thinking about how fucking nice it would be to hide from his embarrassment in the arms of a delicious high. 

“Something wrong, Angel,” Alastor said, eyes narrowing with glee as his smile widened. “No need to be shy. The whole hotel has come together to rejoice in your great step towards redemption.”

Fucking sadist.

“Of course not, Daddy,” Angel purred, putting a crooning emphasis on the endearment which caused Alastor to visibly twitch in disgust. The difference between Alastor when he was revved up and when he was at his usual untouchable self really did stand out. He wondered if he could inspire any reaction from the Radio Demon outside of disdain now that they had thoroughly taken care of his ‘unfortunate urges’ for the time being.

He didn’t have time to mull over this thought for long.

Charlie bolted to his side the second they made eye contact, wrapping her arms tightly around him with such a warm and gleeful expression that he almost felt guilty for some strange, unknown reason. “Angel, congratulations on leaving the studio,” she said, rubbing a tear from her eye. “I had no idea… we thought you WANTED to work… I mean… when I heard you were saving up all this time to buy your way out of a contract with Valentino… I’m just so proud of you and so happy for you!”

Annnnnd he needed a drink.

“And howl!” Alastor cheered, with a sharp laugh as he handed Angel a glass of champagne which the spider immediately downed. His throat felt so fucking dry, anything to lather his mouth and lighten his head. He flushed when one of those emphatically gesturing hands rested on his waist. “Yes, we are all so incredibly PROUD of our indomitable Angel Dust, pinching pennies and going without; all to purchase his freedom so he could finally ‘take this whole redemption thing seriously’. That IS what you said earlier, is it not Angel?”

Angel blinked. Charlie’s eyes were grew wider and wider by the second. Her eagerness and joy brightened her features. She looked… radiant. She looked like mother fuckin’ sunshine personified.

Oh Satan, no. Not a fucking song. She was going to sing a fucking song, he just knew it. He looked around for an escape route, but the hand on his waist felt like a ball and chain. He gave her an awkward, sheepish smile and quickly blurted, “Ah um, it’s really nothin’, Charlie. I was a bit tipsy earlier. I said a lot’a stuff. No need t’ get ova’ excited—“

Too late.

_“Angel, you’re an angel._

_You’ve been here for a year now and I know,  
It must be hard to feel all alone.  
You spend your days hiding in a haze,  
Because God forbid you’re known. _

_But I see you,  
Smoking in a corner with shadows all around,  
Trying not to make a sound;  
Because there are tears in your eyes,  
And god forbid we realize,  
That you’re not always strong. _

_You don’t have to be strong all the time..._

_But I see you,  
Laughing, telling stories. _

_I see you,  
Smiling so bright. _

_I see you,  
You’re luminous, I swear. _

_Angel, I see you, standing there._

_Why keep crying deep inside?  
Angel, there’s nothing left to hide.  
You can let go of your pride.  
We’ll stay by your side.  
You don’t have to be alone.  
Just let us be your home.” _

Her song, sung so gently and coaxingly, felt like a stab to the heart. He thanked her as best he could, but his words sounded almost inaudible even to his own ears. The corners of his eyes burned. Fuck. He glanced at Alastor, noting that the Radio Demon also appeared particularly caught off guard by her tender song choice. His ears flicked back. His grip on Angel’s waist softened slightly. After making some smooth excuse about ‘mingling’ with the other guests, he steered the shell-shocked spider to the couch. Angel didn’t have time to dwell on whether or not Charlie found it odd that Alastor was basically tugging him around the room. It didn’t really matter. They all knew there was no use questioning the Radio Demon’s whims anyway.

Another glass of champagne down the fucking hatch. He glared at Alastor from over the glass. 

“Fuck. You.” He hissed, poking the other man’s chest with one of his index fingers for emphasis. 

Alastor batted his hand away, undaunted. “Not a fan of the musical number then?” He said, arching his brows in a show of mock concern. “Why, was it the rhyme? The tune? I must say, my effeminate fellow, I never took you for such a high hat!”

Angel gritted his teeth. “Listen here, asshole—“

“Or such a wet blanket.” 

Angel paused for a moment, studying his new, so-called beau. “Ya really wanna play this game right now, Smiles?” He asked, tilting his head just slightly. He brushed Alastor’s hand with his own, watching the Radio Demon go very still before that gloved hand discreetly folded around it. Somehow, that small gesture felt so… strangely intimate. Angel bit his lip, but continued: “‘Cause I think ya have a whole lot more t’ lose than I do by pissin’ me off. I didn’t make any deals, I didn’t shake yer hand, and I sure as hell didn’t agree t’ this whole ‘relationship’ idea ‘cause I like bein’ mocked and belittled. Ya have two choices right now. Either ya get me anotha’ drink and start pamperin’ me, or ya keep playin’ these twisted little games and I find someone else t’ fuck my tight ass. Ya know I can find someone real easy, don’t ya? I’m the hottest fuckin commodity in hell, and more than a few fellas would kill fa exclusive access.”

Silence. 

Those red eyes narrowed, but Alastor said nothing as he refilled Angel’s glass with a wave of his hand. Despite the chill in the air and the faintest buzz of irritation humming around them, Angel took comfort in the fact that their hands remained entwined. 

“Well, I must agree I overstepped,” Alastor said, scanning the crowd for watching eyes as they spoke. “You are indeed a choice bit of calico. I will endeavor to play the gentleman tonight.”

One final squeeze, and the hand was gone. 

Angel arched a brow, sipping his drink. “A ‘choice bit of calico’ that ya just so happen t’ be ashamed of,” he said.

“Oh? And here I thought discretion was the name of the game! If you like, I can certainly make an announcement,” Alastor said with a laugh.

Angel looked around the room, eyes falling on Charlie. He imagined explaining this shit to her in a way that didn’t make her face pinch with genuine concern for his well being. “No,” he said, plastering on his most charming smile as one of the newer guests, a 1920s flapper by the name of Mimzy, sidled up to him and began making small talk. 

“Well isn’t this just berries! You know, we three really are the old timers in the room,” she said with a little laugh and a far away look. “Oh, Husk too. He nearly slipped my mind.”

“Didn’t die young like the three of us,” Angel said, shaking his head. “He made it inta his fuckin’ 70s. I would says he’s a lucky fuckin’ bastard, but my life wasn’t worth shit back then.” A pause. Alastor studied him with renewed interest that he didn’t bother to investigate. “I do miss it sometimes though. Not my life, but the FEEL of the old days…ya know? I mean, sure I get inta’ all the new shit. New music. New tech. New fashion… but ya rememba’ how everythin’ just felt… bigger? The world, even hell, seems somehow…cramped and small nowadays…”

“Bigger and so full of possibilities… at least in the 20s,” Mimzy said.

Angel laughed. “I was a kid and a teen in the 20s,” he said. “Possibilities seemed endless… but that didn’t last long. A Mafia family, the depression, and then the war… options got real fuckin’ sparse.” 

“Mm hmm,” Alastor mused. “You may both complain to me from your seats at the front of the bus,” he purred, that broad smile never straying from his lips. “Now, a little more giggle water, my dear fellow. That should clear your head of these melancholy thoughts!”

“Smiles! I didn’t know ya were—“

“Mixed-Raced. Creole.” Alastor’s words were clipped, the sentences short. He wasn’t going to elaborate. A nugget of information supplied and nothing more. 

Angel leaned in a little closer as the Radio Demon filled his glass. His chest fluff brushed the other man’s arm. Alastor, surprisingly, didn’t move away. “Ya think we woulda gotten along back then, Al? Say when I was a young adult… before ya died? I think ya woulda been my type. I bet ya were a looker.” He couldn’t help but flirt a little. It would be strange if he didn’t, right?

Alastor pressed the rounded edge of the champagne flute against Angel’s lips, tipping it so the liquid slid gradually into his mouth. “Maybe.” Was all he said. 

Well, he would consider that a win. 

Alastor was right. The drink did clear his head of all melancholy thoughts. It also put him firmly on the road to champagne dunk. With each glass that followed, he found himself more giggly, more clingy, and more loose-lipped. 

“Did I eva’ tell ya how cute yer ears are, Al? So fuckin’ cute,” he slurred several drinks in, leaning against the Radio Demon and reaching for one of those red plush poofs. It twitched away from his grasp. 

The world wobbled, but Alastor’s smile remained in high definition, widening. No, I don’t believe you have,” he said, almost crooning in that playful way of his. “But do go on.” 

Angel hugged Alastor’s arm with his two lower appendages, nuzzling into the man’s shoulder. So close. So warm. He giggled, perhaps a bit too loudly. He barely even noticed all of the eyes on him, or the anxious shuffle of Charlie’s footsteps.

“O-oh goodness!” She gasped, looking between himself and the Radio Demon with wide, panicked eyes. “Al, I’m so sorry. I know you… oh, you’re being so patient. Angel, how much have you had to drink? Al, do you think he’s—?”

“Oh he’s absolutely, positively zozzled! Plastered! Owled! Embalmed!” Alastor’s laughter sounded like an alarm, drawing more eyes to them. His cane echoed the sentiment with an audience laugh track. “So very unfortunate that he should spend this little celebration of his meager successes and renewed interest towards seeking redemption in a state of utter intoxication, though perhaps you might have given the rummy a two drink limit. It seems he has not the tolerance nor the self control of, well, anyone else in the room. He is lucky I am in a forgiving mood, or I might have bitten off his hand by now. Quite the snuggle pup. I must say, I do not appreciate being petted by a quiff.”

Wait. Wait. 

This fucking… sure, Angel couldn’t see perfectly straight, and sure Alastor spoke entirely too quickly and too fancy for him to catch all the words, but he got two things loud and clear. Alastor had gotten him drunk on purpose so he would make a fool of himself, and the Radio Demon had just called him a fucking quiff— a cheap prostitute… a slut. 

Well fuck this.

Angel smacked him. 

He smacked Alastor right across the face. He couldn’t believe he’d done it, even as the sound of skin striking skin seemed to resound around the room, silencing all other chatter. Time sputtered to a stop after his hand made contact with the Radio Demon’s cheek. Eyes fell on them. Horrified, panicked and confused eyes. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Angel—“ A pitchy low voice, muffled with radio static. A slight hiss of venom behind the words. 

Angel stood and… walked away. 

He just got up and walked away. 

He walked… away… from the seething radio demon. Surely, it wasn’t the stupidest move he could have made? At the very least it was a… unique choice. But Angel didn’t fucking care. He was drunk and angry. He was so fucking angry.

So he walked away, hips swaying, and leaned against the bar. “Husky, be a dear and get me somethin’ stronger than champagne. And whateva’ ya got in mind right now, double it.”

Husk stared at him, blinking slowly as if to determine whether or not he was actually conscious. “Drink it fast, kid,” he said, tossing together a drink and sliding it to Angel with a flick of his tail. “It’ll be your last.”

Angel shifted his weight from one long shapely leg to the other, feeling the approaching heat without needing to turn and acknowledge the blazing red gaze. Closer. “Oh, I dunno,” he said, throwing his head back with a sharp laugh. Closer. “What’s he gonna do? Maul me in front of the princess and all the people he wants t’ fuckin’ charm?”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow! Clearly the champagne does not agree with you,” Grabbed. Turned. Pinned. Trapped. Angel’s hair stood on end as those two dials stared back at him. He could hear static, static everywhere. Static coming from inside his own head. “However, I must insist we speak privately about your unfortunate outburst.”

Angel paused, considered, and flipped off the Radio Demon, turning his back to him. “Yeah, no. I’m not talkin t’ ya until ya apologize, Smiles.” 

“Excuse me?! Apologize to—“ Alastor started to say, but then there was more static. Angel glanced back at the Radio Demon and realized the angry red glare had drifted downwards and was now stuck on his round ass. Ah, good ole ‘butt boobs’ was at it again! The dress that wanted to be a shirt! He watched Alastor glance around in irritation, moving his body directly behind Angel to block others from the view. 

“Yeah, Smiles,” he said, sipping his drink. “Apologize t’ me fa bein’ such a fuckin’ dick. Until then, I’ll just keep minglin.’” He hadn’t expected fingers to ghost over his cheeks, to feel Alastor’s deft hands casually brush the bubbly globes without so much as a second thought or a warning. One swift tug, and the Radio Demon had yanked the dress back into place. Angel yelped, flushing instantly at the unexpected touch. “H-hey! Hands t’ ya self, S-smiles.” 

“I am sorry if my teasing offended you,” Alastor hissed. “Come with me NOW.”

“That ain’t a real apology,” Angel said, deadpan. He loved seeing the Radio Demon balk and bristle while still holding a smile in place. He stirred his drink with a bendy straw, humming. “That’s one of those fake fuckin apologies. The ‘I’m sorry I offended ya’ apology. It’s all just you bein’ a dick again. Hey Baxter! Ya got a second? I wanted t’ ask ya about yer latest experiment.”

And off he went. 

That was one advantage of long legs: he could be across the room in the time it took most men to blink. Of course, Alastor could fucking teleport, but it was growing increasingly clear to Angel that the Radio Demon was trying NOT to draw attention to their little quarrel. Charlie was watching, after all, and Satan forbid she realize what an unbelievable fucking prick the Radio Demon actually was before he’d finished having a laugh at her expense. 

At first, Alastor endeavored to ignore him. He behaved in an overly animated and sickeningly charming manner with the other hotel residents, all the while subtly encouraging them to drink, gamble, or engage in some paltry little sin that would eventually lead to an all-out bender. He laughed, chatted, and joked, avoiding Angel; though the spider found his glass was always full, a handkerchief was always on hand, and every once in a while something like a hand tugged his dress back into place when it threatened to expose him. Fucking prick.

However, with each passing moment that Angel did not cave, the Radio Demon grew visibly more irritated; with each inch the dress slid up his thighs, those eyes became more pointed; and with each smile Angel flashed to another fella, the Radio Demon’s grin became tighter. Eventually, the alcohol began to overwhelm all of Angel’s senses, loosening every limb and deepening every laugh. He flirted and flounced around the room. He brushed off Charlie’s concerns and ignored Vaggie’s thinly veiled threats. So, Alastor wanted him to act like a messy ho at this party? Well, he’d be the messiest ho he could be. 

“So then I said t’ the John, ‘well, it ain’t on the price list ‘cause I ‘neva thought anyone would ask fa that, ya sick fuck’. He didn’t take kindly t’ that. I got a shiner and a fuckin’ enema all in one fuckin’ day. Anyway, at least it paid well. But t’ answer ya question… nah, I don’t care fa fizzy water.” He found himself brutally wrenched from telling his fascinating tale by a tight grip encircling one of his lower arms and quite literally yanking him out of the room and into a hallway. A few twists and turns, and the Radio Demon apparently settled on a suitably nondescript location. 

“What in Satan’s name is WRONG with this damned dress of yours!” Alastor half shouted, half whispered , pushing him up against the red, tacky wall. Angel yelped as a gloved hand groped his partially exposed ass. Two fingers dipped between the cheeks, rubbing the thoroughly-fucked hole with enough fervor to make him shiver and whine. The other hand slid down the front of his dress to grab one of his fluffy tits, finding a nipple, pinching, and tugging. 

“No,” Angel gasped. He wanted to push Alastor away from him, but the hungry lips on his throat made it very… difficult. Instead, he settled for leaning down and kissing the Radio Demon, sinking his fangs into the man’s lower lip and earning a hiss. “I already told ya… if ya wanna play with this fuckin ‘quiff’ then ya better fuckin offer up a real apology.” 

“Oh, Ab-so-lute-ly, my dear fellow,” Alastor purred, spinning the spider around to face that dated maroon wallpaper. Two fingers breached the twitching hole, slamming into him with punishing force. Angel’s cheeks flushed, lips parting. He stifled his pathetic, breathy moans with a trembling hand. “I truly apologize for my behavior. My insinuation that you might be a bit of a handsy quiff was SO utterly uncalled for.” A third finger added for emphasis.

“That’s sure cheeky comin’ from such an…ahhh ahhhnn… insecure… ghnnn… p-prude. Fa someone who keeps insultin’ me, ya sure do like fuckin me, Mistah High and Mighty.” Teeth brushed his neck. The fingers left his hole. He heard the sound of pants unfastening. The Radio Demon’s meaty rod took no time ramming itself into his ready ass. Claws dug into his hips, holding him firm as the steady thrusts rocked him. He bit back a scream. “Hnnnn Fuckin’ hypocrite. Ya know, yer a fuckin’ TYPE of John, right? Plenty-a’ pricks just like ya.”

Teeth sank into his shoulder. Red blood staining white fur. 

“Shut up.”

“What? Ya don’t like bein’ compared t’ other Johns, Daddy?” Angel snapped, tightening himself around the pulsating thickness inside him. “Ya wanna treat me and use me like a whore, yer gonna get a fuckin’ whore. Only problem is, yer too fuckin stupid t’ realize I can make this all fuckin’ end wheneva’ the fuck I want.” There was a reason he was famous. Angel bounced back on the rod, squeezing and sliding on it with practiced eased. He knew how to make a man cum QUICK if he wanted to. He knew how to MILK a dick dry. 

He heard Alastor gasp— felt that buzzing in the air.

Angel reached back with his lower set of arms, grabbed the deer demon’s firm ass, and jerked him forward to force that large cock deeper inside himself, guiding each rolling thrust. He turned his head, sank his fangs into the Radio Demon’s neck, and injected him with a shiny green venom that made the man’s eyes go wide— made his body shake. 

The strangled moan that sounded from those smiling lips as Alastor came early inside him was just… delicious. 

With little ceremony, he slid off the rod and shoved the Radio Demon roughly onto the ground once the man’s dick finished spasming and spurting inside him. He placed a heeled foot on Alastor’s chest, smiling down at him. Oh, what a fuckin sight: Stunned, wild red eyes. Angry. Hungry. 

“Don’t use me as yer pawn, Smiles,” he purred, leaning down and stroking his knuckles against the Radio Demon’s cheek in a touch both tender and menacing at the same time . “I’m a fuckin’ queen.”

The red ears flattened. He watched Alastor shiver under his touch, eyes squeezing briefly shut. “I’m sorry, Angel,” he said, words softer than before. “I’m sorry.”

Much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Review please 👁👄👁
> 
> I feast upon your words. 
> 
> I couldn’t resist continuing this. Could not resist.


	3. Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: A bit of mean teasing and slightly predatory behavior that devolves into fluff after some confusion.
> 
> Kissing, nipple play, and horniness unsated.
> 
> For Updates and general nonsense, feel free to follow me on Twitter @LadyInStarlight

Chapter 3 

Angel woke the next morning in a bed that wasn’t his, in a room he didn’t recognize, with a raging hangover he knew all too well. The bedspread wrapped around his slender form appeared deep red in color with silver leaf accents. He studied it dazedly; a vintage silk brocade that felt entirely too pleasant against his skin. The room, though large, seemed cluttered with antique furniture made from dark cherry wood that had been intricately carved and crafted during a time when opulence and detail were in vogue. The floor had been softened by rich Persian rugs, but the walls screamed at his aching head with their use of that familiar hotel wallpaper. He saw tassels, portraits in golden frames, and an assortment of STUFF lined neatly on every shelf. Knick knacks, decorations, odds and ends.

He also felt a chest, rising and falling, pressed against his back. A slender but strong arm had entwined itself around his waist in a vice grip. He didn’t know when or how they ended up in Alastor’s bedroom the night before, though he supposed falling into bed together was inevitable given the circumstances. He really needed to slip out before the Radio Demon woke up. The fact that Angel had drunkenly one-upped and humiliated the bastard the night before should have felt like a victory, but he knew better. 

Lessons don’t always stick so quick.

Alright, so he needed to escape the Radio Demon’s bedroom. Unfortunately, he was naked and wrapped in the other demon’s arms. Where the fuck were his clothes? He scanned the room. Nowhere. Fuckin perfect.

Could he book it from Alastor’s bedroom naked? He imagined running out of the room, dick swinging, at a full sprint. He then imagined what anyone seeing him would think. He imagined explaining that shit to Charlie and Vaggie. Nope.

He shifted slightly. Bad move. The grip around his waist squeezed him closer. A large bulge encased in the thin fabric of pajama pants pressed itself against his bare ass. Oh. Oh fuck. He bit his lip. No no no. He needed to focus. He could not be distracted by a soft dick pressed against his ass. It wasn’t even hard, dammit! He could do this. His fucking asshole was wrecked as it was, aching and thoroughly fucked from the night before. Sure, this wasn’t his first rodeo; and sure, he’d taken far more cocks in one night, and had— on occasion— gone so many rounds that he was a loose and drooling mess by the end of the day, but he was TRYING to be classy now. 

Kinda…

A soft grumble from behind him. He felt Alastor wake up; felt the way his body tensed instantly, the sharp intake of breath, and the buzz of a radio struggling to find the right channel. The arm left his waist. White noise… and then a strange, disjointed voice, “Why, good morning, Angel Dust, my effeminate fellow. Ha ha ha. I hate to be a bit a bluenose, but if you would please—“

Angel slipped out of the bed swiftly, wincing a bit when he finally stood. His fucking head. “Smiles,” he said, rubbing his temples and glancing around the room. “Where’s my dress? I need somethin’ unless ya want everyone t’ see me leavin’ ya room naked.” A pause. He looked down at his bare feat and cringed. “And my fuckin heels.” 

Vulnerable. Exposed. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling anxious as those piercing red eyes began to study him. Alastor sat up, made a point of changing his own outfit with a wave of his hand, vanished, and reappeared beside him, smiling far too broadly with a fiery gaze that seemed to glow with malice.

Oh no.

“Nonsense!” Alastor boomed, swatting him across the ass with his cane and shoving him, rather roughly towards the door. “Why, it’s early morning, the sun is just now rising, and I am sure all the residents are still sleeping soundly after last night’s festivities. Run along, my little milquetoast. Worse comes to worse, someone gets an eyeful of the goods, which you were more than eager to display last night while you were loaded to the muzzle! You were four sheets in the wind, by Satan!”

“Ya can’t be serious,” Angel said, feeling his stomach sink as that tight smile widened. He watched the doorknob turn. It opened slightly. Well fine. Two could play at that game. He wasn’t gonna fucking beg, cry, or plead. “Alright then,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and striding towards the door, hips swaying. “Might as well put on a fuckin’ show. Maybe I’ll run inta’ Husk.”

The door slammed shut before he reached it. He heard the resounding click of the lock.

It would seem he had called Alastor’s bluff.

He turned back towards the Radio Demon, hands on his hips. “Alright, handsome. Wanna magic me up an outfit then or are ya gonna pout?” He said, catching the way those eyes narrowed and the smile lost its teeth. Then the eyes strayed down to his feet and briefly lost their malice, widening in interest. 

Sure, it wasn’t the first time Al would have seen them, but Angel had kept the other man pretty thoroughly distracted that time they showered together. Now, the horror of being on full display, completely naked without his goddamn shoes, without any distractions, really sunk in. He folded under that intense observation.

He hated his fuckin feet. Horrific spider feet. Usually he did everything he fuckin could to hide them. Never went to bed without knee high stockings. Never went barefoot. He grabbed a sheet off the bed with one rough yank and wrapped it around himself. Viola. 

It disappeared.

“Smiles, what the fuck!” He shouted in a voice that cracked at the end. That smile was back and he found his ass hitting the bed after being shoved by some unseen force. The Radio Demon approached him with chipper bouncing steps. 

“Now now, Angel. Why suddenly so nervous?” He asked, grabbing and lifting one of the fluffy feet. His gloved hands were surprisingly careful as they ran over the sensitive toe beans. Angel shivered. No one touched his feet. No one touched his feet. Val made him hide them. Fuck, that was why so many of his fans sent creepy fan mail asking him to show his fucking feet. Neither he nor Valentino would ever allow that. 

HE HATED HIS UGLY FUCKING FEET.

So then why was he getting flushed, hot, and bothered under Alastor’s searching gaze— under his exploring touch.

“I know they’re ugly, Al,” he said, feeling himself lose the high ground when tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “Ya don’t gotta rub it in.”

Baffled.

Alastor looked baffled. Whatever game he had been playing screeched to a halt. “Ugly?” He repeated, studying the spider foot. “Bushwa! Who told you they were ugly? Angel, all teasing aside, there isn’t a part of you that isn’t keen. The bees knees! You are physically—and I will never say this again so listen closely— perfect.” 

Angel grabbed Alastor, yanked the man down on top of him, and kissed the startled radio demon with more passion and vigor than he had ever put in any performance.

At first Alastor was all rigid, completely startled, but Angel was inwardly pleased to find it didn’t take long for the man’s tongue to partner his own in that passionate dance, to twist and move together. Hungry. He felt their breathing synchronizing. Heat. Lips. Dizzy. So dizzy. Hot and dizzy.

He wrapped his thighs around Alastor’s waist as they kissed. A gloved hand cradled his cheek almost tenderly. More. More. More. He watched through a hazy gaze as Alastor pulled back, just briefly, to gasp for air and yank at his bow tie with his free hand, clearly flushed and heated as well. Once he had tossed the offending article aside, he dove back into the kiss, and Angel was grateful for the return of those warm lips against his own. He raked his claws down Alastor’s back, felt the man groan against him. Teeth, ever so lightly, nipped Angel’s lower lip in response. He showed admirable control by not to sinking them in too deep.

And then…

BANG BANG BANG!

The knock rattling the door nearly gave Angel a fucking panic attack. He felt his heart hammering in his chest. He knew he was positively pink all over, especially around his cheeks and chest where the blush tended to congregate most.

Alastor sat up, ears twitching, but placed a gloved hand on Angel’s breast to keep him from moving. His smile, close lipped and strained, paired surprisingly well with a furrowed brow. Angel noticed the hastily bottled frustration clearly present in those flashing eyes. “Good morning!” He boomed in the best approximation of his usual cheery tones that he could manage. “And who might I have the pleasure of addressing in these early morning hours?”

“Al, it’s Charlie. Angel isn’t… in his room.” A voice said, all concern. Alastor glared at the door, absentmindedly running a hand through the flushed pink chest fluff. He flicked one of the hardened, budded nipples; then rolled it, used his thumb and index finger to pinch and tease it. Angel wanted to fucking scream. He tightened his thighs around the Radio Demon and covered his mouth with his hand to quiet his whimpers, back arching. “Fat Nuggets has been squealing for hours and when we went to check we realized Angel wasn’t there. We’re worried… after last night… maybe he got into some trouble.”

Awww. Fuck. Poor little Nuggs. He would have to take him on a long walk and carry him around for the rest of the day to make it up to him.

“Oh, I am sure Angel is just fine, Charlie,” Alastor said. “Return in, say, an hour or two and I shall assist—“

“An hour or two?” Charlie sounded confused. Alastor was usually up and bouncing around the hotel before sunrise. 

Alastor’s hungry eyes fixed themselves on Angel. “An hour,” he said firmly, leaning down to twist his tongue around the other neglected nipple. Hot. So hot. Angel found it hard to keep in all his little mewls and moans. “Goodbye—“

“Al, are you putting on a fucking broadcast!” Vaggie’s voice now, a bit harsher. Less trusting certainly. “We asked you not to maim people at all. Much less in the hotel.”

The jingling of keys.

Alastor’s eyes snapped to the door, shifting into dials. His shadows slithered from the corners of the room to block it. God fucking dammit. 

They weren’t gonna be able to continue in peace. 

“Oh fa fuck’s sake!” Angel said finally, nearly screaming in frustration. He stroked one of Alastor’s ears, watching his eyes shift back to normal under the coaxing touch. “I’m fuckin fine! I had a rough fuckin night. Lotsa fuckin pukin’ and Al takin care of me outta the goodness of his black fuckin heart. Let me get my face t’getha and I’ll talk t’ ya in a minute, toots—“ His words were muffled by Alastor’s lips crashing against his own. He tangled his hands in that bright crimson hair, arched against the Radio Demon. They had to get up. 

But… just one more kiss. 

Somehow the pain of wrenching away from the kiss felt worse than his migraine fucking headache. He sat up, allowed Alastor’s magic to dress him in slippers and flannel pajamas, and walked to the door after the other man had made himself prim, proper, and presentable. He swung it open and could tell, immediately, that the two women believed him upon seeing him. Their horror and pity said it all.

Fuck. 

He didn’t want to see himself. Moving was agony. Light was agony. If he looked in a fucking mirror, he was sure he LOOKED like a dude who had been vomiting all night… instead of what he had actually been doing.

Charlie hurried over to him, eyes wide. “Oh, Angel. Are you alright? Here, let’s get you back to your room. Do you want some water? Al, thanks for taking care of him. That was so good of you! I think you two are really becoming friends!”

Alastor sidled up alongside him, belting out his usual sardonic laughter as he looped an arm around Angel’s waist. Oh god. Too fucking loud. “Why of course!” One of those hands cupped Angel’s face, pinching his cheek in a mockery of the tenderness they had been sharing just moments before. “And after our quarrel last night, such a pleasure to see him crying and suffering. So many tears. Well, now that the secret of your shameful night has been uncovered, I shall let the ladies whisk you away, my effeminate fellow. Try not to get woozy again any time soon.”

Angel considered biting his hand and reminding him exactly how the night had actually gone down, but he kept his mouth shut. The lie was more believable and more convenient than the truth. 

“I’ll try,” he said, running a hand through his hair and offering the Radio Demon a sheepish smile, perhaps less outwardly loud and flirtatious than his usual schtick. “See ya later, handsome. I would say I’m sorry fa smackin ya silly last night, but ya deserved it. No regrets.” 

Charlie looked confused. “Why did you—“

“Charlie,” he said, stifling a laugh as Alastor’s grip tightened around him almost painfully. He continued regardless. “Ya know just ‘cause he sounds all sophisticated and shit, don’t mean he ain’t insultin’ me. A “quiff” is old-time slang fa a slut or a cheap whore. That’s why I slapped the fucker!”

“WHAT?! Al, that’s so—“

Angel slipped away. He’d leave Alastor to explain his way out of that bullshit— a little sweet revenge for making Angel sound like a sobbing messy drunk. Besides, it would do Charlie some good to actually analyze some of the charming bullshit that came out of Alastor’s mouth. 

He regretted his choice to end on a sour note a week later. 

A whole week without dick. A WHOLE FUCKING week. He hadn’t gone a week without dick since… fuck… he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a week without dick. 

It wasn’t that Alastor was ignoring him. On the contrary, the Radio Demon had continued teasing and chatting with him the same as ever. However, he hadn’t given Angel any indication he was even remotely interested in fucking. He expertly dodged all flirtations, moved away from Angel’s touch, and played dumb to any suggestions of engaging in, well, anything. 

By day three, he had nearly convinced himself that Alastor was done with him. He’d dressed up, prepared himself to go clubbing with Cherri, and resigned himself to finding some strange cock. But then, just as he was walking out the door, Alastor caught him around the waist and planted a light peck on his lips, telling him to stay out of trouble.

Well fuck. 

Needless to say, he didn’t look for any strange dick after that, but Alastor never followed up the kiss with anything resembling an invitation. He managed to get a few more kisses, found the Radio Demon compliant to an impromptu make-out session on occasion, though sometimes not. 

He needed to get to the bottom of this

“Hey, Smiles,” he said on the seventh day. He had dressed in his mafia attire and was preparing to leave on a little job collecting some new explosives for Cherri from an underhanded supplier who made the mistake of stiffing his girl buddy. “I’m headed out now, but if yer up fa it ya wanna fuck t’night when I get back?” 

No one was around. Might as well ask.

Alastor glanced at him, eyes widening only marginally in surprise, but didn’t miss a beat, seated in his high-backed chair and flipping through his newspaper. “No thank you, Angel.”

“Alright. Guess it’s a night for Mr. Reliable instead,” Angel said, shrugging and trying to let the rejection roll off his back. He knew their libidos wouldn’t quite match up, but… the feeling of those lips against his… well… he’d just deal with it. Mr. Reliable and his 20 different vibration and automated thrusting settings ought to do the trick for the time being.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Alastor teleported in front of him. His smile looked… feral, eyes flashing. Why the fuck was he pissed now?!

“Excuse me, my dear,” he said, cocking his head to the side. Too far. Necks don’t fucking bend that far. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Mister… who was it? What was his name?” 

Angel blinked. “Huh? Oh! Al, that’s—“

“Hey, Angel!” Nifty came tumbling into the room, feather duster in hand with her single eye wide with excitement. “Charlie is looking for you! Did you know? She said something about a chore wheel. Are you gonna run? Oh oh oh! Before you go, my last pic of you did so super well on Voxtagram. Can I get another while you’re in your sexy Mafia outfit!? My followers are gonna eat it up!” 

“Huh, oh… um… sure thing babes,” he said, laughing awkwardly as he and Alastor both took several steps back from each other. Alastor, he noticed, scowled at every hellphone like it owed him money. Angel was never gonna get a selfie with the bastard, was he? “Ya sure ya don’t wanna get in on this photo shoot action, Smiles,” he teased, striking a pose for Nifty as she set aside the duster and brandished her phone. 

“Pics of Angel get SOOOOO many likes and new followers,” Nifty said, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she lined up the shot. “Especially from MEN!”

His feet flew out from under him.

His view of the world shifted to upside down.

Angel never expected to be, quite literally, swept off his feet. Those slender arms caught him up in such a strong and possessive hold, a clawed hand subtly digging into his flesh. Alastor had dipped him low, and Angel found himself with his head tossed back— hat lost and hair falling loose. Nifty nearly dropped her phone, letting out a small startled gasp. He glanced up to meet Alastor’s piercing red eyes. They briefly caught his own in a meaningful stare but then focused forward, seeming to gaze into the camera; a dark, threatening challenge in his glare. Nifty shrieked as she snapped the picture. “Oh my SATAN. Thank you, boss. Thank you thank you thank you. It’s not even blurry or pixelated. My followers are gonna flip!! Angel, you look SO PRETTY and boss looks like he could KILL with his smile and glare. Sooooo cool!”

Angel flushed, a bit dizzy, as he was carefully lifted back onto his feet. Alastor handed him his hat with a playful little bow and then offered Nifty a charming smile. “Happy to be of service, my dear,” he said, making a show of straightening Angel’s outfit with finicky and precise hands. “But never again, of course. Now, Angel, why don’t I accompany you on this little outing; make sure all this business of yours is on the level? Miss Magne did ask me to ensure you stay out of trouble. I certainly hope you do not plan to get yourself into some caper, or worse, to meet with some cake-eater!”

“Suit yourself, Smiles,” Angel said, arching a brow. Whatever. He could use the Radio Demon’s help with this job anyway. It might even be fun.

And he did love seeing Alastor so… jealous and rattled. 

Maybe he’d chase that feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Review if you enjoyed it! 👁👄👁
> 
> I know Saturday is, strangely, the worst day to post anything but I got this little Chapter done and couldn’t help it.


	4. Handshake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Angel is uncomfortable with the situation but says nothing, light choking, Alastor is possessive and controlling, lots of graphic sex, negative self talk, and manipulative behavior.
> 
> For Updates and general nonsense, feel free to follow me on Twitter @LadyInStarlight

Chapter 4

He could have lost a limb.

Sure, nothing was permanent in Hell, and sure, eventually he would have found himself whole again, but the fact remained that losing a limb fucking HURT and he really appreciated Alastor encasing him in a shield of shadows when the bomb went off.

Perhaps having a little extra backup really was a good idea, particularly when explosives were involved. 

“Thanks, Smiles,” he said, filling one of the offending goons with a stomach full of bullets. Seventeen down. Five more to go. “Losin’ a leg would be a fuckin’ pain. I owe ya one.” He watched in awe as four of the men were devoured, shrieking, into a void of shadows.

At first, he had worried the Radio Demon would balk when he heard about the job Angel planned to undertake, but Alastor had proven himself surprisingly pliant. Sure, the seedy warehouse district in the city wasn’t his usual playground, but he seemed to enjoy helping Angel mangle some schmucks, and Angel enjoyed the way those eyes fell on him when he handled a gun. 

Also… they worked well together. 

In a way, it was like a dance. A really bizarre dance full of dodging, leaping, climbing, and shooting. But a dance nonetheless. He ran along one of those writhing columns of shadows to make a shot, ducked behind one to avoid a bomb, and found that whenever a directive, however coded, left his lips, Alastor followed the order without missing a beat. 

And with each body that fell, the Radio Demon’s glowing grin widened.

Alastor currently stood some paces behind him, practically rippling with power. His clawed fingers moved and then clenched as his shadows obliterated their victims. “Happy to be of service,” he said, both his shark-like grin and playful glare alight.

A familiar heat rushed to Angel’s crotch. He would really… really need to take care of this throbbing hunger between his thighs soon. After seeing Alastor in action… he required what could only be referred to as an extensive session with his box of “work shit”. 

It was starting to become a problem, this intense hunger. Perhaps he really did have a problem. One week and all he wanted to do was to crawl up to Alastor on his hands and knees and beg the other man to fuck him raw.

Decades of sex and perpetual high had left him… craving the rush of release, and the Radio Demon did something for him that he couldn’t explain. 

He needed to push through it. It happened infrequently, but it always happened. Alastor would come to him eventually. Until then, he could take care of his own sexual appetites and just… let this be enough. The kisses, the time together… it could be enough.

It could really be enough.

Angel shook away the thoughts.

Just one more creep to go. 

Angel scanned the perimeter. He focused, silent and listening for even the slightest shuffle of movement. The subtlest intake of breath. The faintest beating of a heart. The briefest flash of skin. 

Bingo.

Right between the eyes. A nice shot given the distance.

“Ha! That’ll teach these fuckers t’ stiff my bitch,” he said with a little laugh, putting away his gun— his one magic trick, making weapons vanish. “I think we’ll be cleanin’ out their inventory. Stupid bastards.” 

“Attaboy!” Alastor beamed, bouncing up to Angel with that chaotic and gleeful expression. “Quite the aim, my dear fellow! Why, you certainly hit on all sixes. I have not seen a shot like that since the bullet that put me six feet under! Ha!” He yanked Angel down to his level and crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss that tasted like blood. Angel felt his thighs quiver. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Why was he so desperate after one fucking week. “Now, let’s deliver these explosive toys to your lady friend and be on our merry way.”

Needless to say, Cherri was more than thrilled.

“Fuck, Ange, ya didn’t have to do this. I love you so fucking much!” She said, throwing her arms around the spider and hugging him tightly. “I can’t believe you did this, you crazy fuck! We coulda gone together. You coulda been hurt! Last thing we need is to go through regrowing your fuckin leg all over again.”

“Hey, nobody stiffs my girl buddy and gets away with it, bitch,” he said, glancing back at Alastor. “And don’t worry. I wasn’t completely alone this time. Had some very convenient back up. Cherri, this is Alastor, the famous fuckin Radio Demon. Al, this is my gal Cherri, the fiercest bitch in hell.”

Alastor took the introduction as his invitation to speak, gliding up to the pair with his wide grin in place. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance!” He boomed. “What’s all this about lost limbs, if I may ask?”

Cherri blinked her single eye and threw her head back, letting out a bark of laughter at a memory. “Nice to meet ya, suit,” she said, nudging Angel playfully. “Ange here once got his fuckin leg blown off during a turf war. Never heard him scream so much. Never seen him put so many bullets in a fucker either. Took forever to get that shit healed. Fuckin agony.”

The briefest beat of silence. 

“Fascinating!” Alastor said, lips twitching downwards just slightly at the corners while still maintaining their usual smile. “Angel, I will accompany you on any similar outings in the future.”

It wasn’t a question. Cherri arched her brow, glanced at Angel, and then smirked. “Wait, you two fuckin or somethin?” Angel flushed faintly and opened his mouth to answer, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Nice addition to the rotation, Ange. The Radio Demon! Ya have a thing for Danger Daddies, I’m tellin’ ya. Still gonna do Wednesdays combin’ for strange with me or does he have ya dick whipped?”

“Of course I am!” Angel blurted, cheeks pink. 

God dammit. Why did he say that? He watched Alastor do the mental math in his head, likely recalling that Wednesday was the night Angel left the hotel in a black miniskirt, a corset top that BARELY encased his tit fluff, and fishnet tights. It was also the night Alastor had caught him up, kissed him, and asked him to stay out of trouble. He HAD stayed out of trouble, but Alastor didn’t know that. He also made a mental note of the way Alastor’s nostrils flared at the word “rotation”, his lips drawing back further, teeth glinting. Rotation. Angel usually kept a… rotation.

In the past, he always made the men he played with aware he wasn’t the relationship type, that his affection was temporary and fleeting. He would never be… in a relationship. It was an impossibility in his line of work, really. He hadn’t told Cherri about his change of heart since leaving Val’s service. Saying you wanted to find a tender, committed, monogamous relationship in Hell was, well, laughable. He would have to explain himself to Alastor soon, but…

Those two burning coals squinted in a dangerous glare. One of Alastor’s gloved hands settled on Angel’s hip, claws sliding under the hem of his pants to dance along soft flesh, tickling in sharp, concentric circles. 

The quiet, possessive touch sent shivers down his spine. 

Well, maybe he would wait a little while to tell Al the truth… just a little while.

Broad shoulders. Trim waist. Straight Back. Perfect posture. One hand brandished a cane that played a jaunty tune from its mic head. The other ghosted over the small of Angel’s back, light as a butterfly wing. It sometimes settled there, resting a while until Angel’s skin burned with the heat of its presence, but other times it would flutter away in some wild gesture or greeting to a passing demon. 

Angel couldn’t help stealing glances at the man beside him. Something felt… off. Alastor chattered as always, plastered on his winning show of teeth, made jokes, and engaged him in idle conversation; but Angel knew something… was very, very wrong. He was sure of it.

However, couldn’t pinpoint why this absolute certainty had crept its way into his mind, nor could be adequately explain it.

He just… knew...

“Ya alright, Smiles?” He asked as the hotel came into sight, blinking when Alastor turned him down a side road instead of taking the straight shot to the hotel. He didn’t know why he followed the man. Stupidity, maybe? Unwitting obedience.

Regardless, he followed. 

“Why, I’m just swell,” Alastor said, casually nudging him along until they reached a neat and nondescript motel. Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Alastor strode inside, leaving him to just… follow. Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach. He felt as though a bird was flapping its wings in his chest. 

“Al,” he said, a bit more quietly than he would have liked. “Why are we at a motel?”

“So we are not interrupted,” Alastor clipped back with a curt and uninterested tone, gliding to the front desk. Angel shifted from foot to foot, watching the Radio Demon pay for the room. Soundproof, ideally. That flapping feeling became more intense. His throat felt suddenly very dry. 

He should leave. He should just leave.

Alastor’s hand closed around his own, and he found himself following, legs shaky. That heat— that stupid, broken, heat that pooled below the belt— kept him moving forward. 

The room was large enough. The sheets, thankfully, appeared clean. All surfaces appeared free of dust. It smelled like lemon. While the furnishings were dated and the walls a pastel sort of green that had seen better days, it could have been worse. When the door closed behind them, he realized he couldn’t even hear the motel staffer’s departing footsteps.

“Angel,” Alastor said, releasing his hand. He folded his palms behind his back. “Undress.”

Angel balked, flushed, and removed his clothes with trembling hands. He craved Alastor’s touch. With every inch of skin revealed, he felt those eyes licking him. His hole throbbed. His cock ached. He tried to make a sexy show of the strip tease, but he couldn’t stop shaking. 

He felt almost shy when he finally sat, naked, on the bed. “Al…”

“Assume the position.”

The command, spoken in such a harsh, cold tone of voice, so devoid of any passion or sentiment, felt like a slap. Red eyes bore into his own wide, bicolor gaze, daring him to argue, promising to leave if he spoke.

Just like before…

He knew he should get up. He knew he should yell or try to TALK this out with the glaring Radio Demon, but suddenly he felt very small, and very powerless.

…And very desperate.

He wanted Alastor. He wanted him so bad it burned. The command sent shockwaves through his body, setting him alight with memories of a large cock ramming into him while he whined uselessly into a pillow.

He bit his lower lip and did as he was told, whimpering under the weight of shame as he propped his round ass in the air and spread his cheeks for the Radio Demon with his lower set of hands. Humiliating. It was so fucking humiliating. 

That piercing red gaze studied his exposed hole with only vague interest, a gloved hand wordlessly swatted his thigh in a silent instruction for him to spread himself wider, and then, finally, there was the weight of another man in the bed. 

He could barely contain a little sob upon feeling Alastor’s large red dick press its mushroom head against his twitching entrance. Pathetic. He was fucking pathetic. The rod slid along the outside of his asshole, almost like a taunt, and just the thrill of that sensation made his toes curl. 

He heard a shuffle of fabric, saw Alastor’s gloves flutter to the ground beside the bed, and experienced the sharp prick of claws scraping against his hips.

He breathed in, “Alastor. Please—“

The sensation vanished. 

No. 

No no no!

He swung his head around, eyes wide. Alastor was moving away from him, looking irritable and remote. “N-no. Wait, A-Al. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t say nothin. P-Please,” his voice cracked on the plea, and he shuddered at the sound of his own begging. “Please.”

He turned his head back around and buried his face into a motel pillow, biting back a whimper of relief when the weight returned on the bed directly behind him. 

Claws sank into his hips. The bulbous tip, now suddenly slick with lube— thank fucking Satan— pushed past the spasming rim of his sphincter and rammed itself inside him. Once it was in— once it had made the breach— it felt SO good. So right. So full. 

Alastor’s heavy balls slapped against his upturned ass. Every inch of the man’s massive cock had burrowed itself into his aching hole. It moved, slowly at first, but then gradually picked up momentum. Angel gasped, bit his lip to hush his own little whines and moans, and did his very best to stay still as the Radio Demon’s thrusts rocked him. 

The pleasure came in toe-curling spasms. His dick twitched, leaking onto the sheets with each powerful jerk of the deer demon’s hips. He wanted to babble his thanks to the other man, but he was fairly certain it would lose him the thorough fucking he craved.

He felt like a bitch in heat.

Pink. He knew he’d turned positively pink. The world seemed suddenly very fuzzy, a haze of lust as Angel chased those tingling spasms of bliss, trying to ride the wave to orgasm.

He got so close so many times, but then the thrusts would slow or stop, the tempo would change, and he would lose it. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His eyes glazed. It became harder to hush the sounds escaping his constantly-parted lips. He’d never been particularly good at staying quiet.

Was he drooling? “Ahhh ahhhnn gn.” The moans grew louder. The pillow provided barely any barrier, but the large rod kept drilling him. Thank Satan Alastor did not stop fucking him. He tore at the sheets, rocked back on the rod, and squeezed his eyes shut.

A clawed hand moved off his hip, grabbed him roughly by the hair, and shoved his face into the pillow; a not so subtle command to keep it down. He did as he was told, sinking his teeth into the fabric. Maybe he would be quieter if it was in his mouth? 

He was rewarded for his efforts with MORE and FASTER and HARDER. The hand in his hair slid down to his neck, wrapped around his throat, and squeezed. With each strike to his prostate, he saw stars, until suddenly he was choking on the pillow as it stifled his screams.

Angel’s entire body seized, back arching and hole clenching, as he came ribbons onto the sheets. He heard Alastor’s hiss of pleasure, like white noise, as the Radio Demon filled his ass with hot jizz, pumping his dick into Angel’s wet, gushy hole until every drop was emptied inside him.

The rod slid out of him with a wet squelching sound. Angel tried to roll onto his side but the sharp claws on his hip held him firmly in place. Why? He looked back and flushed, in embarrassment so unlike a professional sex worker, to see Alastor studying him with cold, hard eyes, watching the cum ooze from his abused little hole. 

Then those eyes narrowed and met his own. Blazing. Angry. 

W-what?

“Now, I think it is time we discussed the specific terms of our arrangement. Don’t you, my dear TWIT?” Alastor said, his smile more a mask than an expression. He ran two fingers over the red, loosened pucker, rubbing it absentmindedly. Angel gasped and wagged his ass in response, panting all over again. “Forgive me, I was under the impression that you understood going steady with myself would involve a certain level of monogamy to which you may be unaccustomed, and that your running about ‘on the make’ would be more than just unacceptable. It would be intolerable.”

“A-Al—“

A heavy hand swatted one of the bubbly globes, making his ass jiggle and his body jolt. Angel yelped, caught off guard by the sharp strike.

“So, let’s make a deal, Angel,” Alastor purred, leaning down and kissing the flaming cheek he had just spanked. “I am the only one who brings you sexual release or pleasure. Nothing or no one else. In return, I will continue to be you ‘beau’ and will endeavor, as I see fit, to pamper you. Do we have a deal?”

Angel might have said ‘fuck no’ just to be obstinate, but then Alastor rolled him onto his back, leaned down to kiss him, and he felt himself melt in the fog of lust. He shouldn’t have shook the Radio Demon’s hand. 

You never shake the Radio Demon’s hand. 

Wanna know what fucking sucks? Cleaning jizz out of an aching, just-fucked asshole in a shitty motel bathroom, that’s what! Wanna know what sucks worse? Thinking about the fact that ya put a fucking motel pillow in your fucking mouth. Angel was positive he would get an infection. In all his years of porn, he’d done some vile fucking shit…

But he never put a random ass motel pillow in his fucking mouth.

He wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to throw something… but most of all he wanted to gargle with mouthwash and cry.

He shook Alastor’s hand. Why the fuck did he shake the Radio Demon’s hand?

He knew better. Everyone knew better. This was some basic ass hell survival bullshit. Vaggie gave him the rundown the first day he ever saw the fucker a year ago, and it had been reiterated a thousand times since. Don’t make any deals with the Radio Demon.

“Fucking dammit!” He shrieked, punching the shitty tile wall and then howling in pain. “Motha’ fucker!” He heard the door open. “Alastor, what the fuck did I fuckin say! I don’t wanna look at yer smug fuckin face right now!” 

“Angel, my dear, just calm—“

“I swear t’ all that’s fuckin hellish if ya tell me t’ calm down one more fuckin time, I’m gonna shoot ya in the dick!” Angel roared, peaking his head around the shower curtain and throwing a wet washcloth at Alastor when he laid eyes on the man’s smirking features. Arrogant smiling prick. Piece of shit Radio Demon. Manipulative bastard. 

Alastor dodged the sopping wash cloth and sidled up to the shower. “Applesauce, my sweetie! There’s no need to go off the deep end! Your behavior is absolutely over the edge, as they say. Come now! Our deal has simply made everything on the level!” 

Angel poked his head out from around the curtain again, glaring at the Radio Demon. “Come any closer and I’ll pop ya in the mouth, I swear,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is what I fuckin get fa followin’ my dick and not my instincts. A fuckin motel. I can’t believe I followed ya inta a fuckin motel. What was I fuckin thinkin? I wasn’t thinkin. Fuckin dammit. I can’t even touch my own dick unless I’m cleanin it all clinical like. This is fuckin ridiculous!”

He couldn’t rub one out. He couldn’t finger his asshole. He couldn’t pleasure himself in any way, shape, or form. 

When he tried, it felt like he was being electrocuted, and not in a good way. 

Alastor studied his nails, feigning disinterest in the screaming rant, but Angel saw the corners of his smirking lips twitch and the way his eyes filled with amusement. He thought this shit was so fucking funny. Angel let out a scream of frustration and ducked back into the shower, turning up the heat of the spray and letting the sauna of steam and warmth encase him. 

Okay, so he’d fucked up. Perhaps he’d teased Alastor a little too much and maybe he should have known better than to shake that tempting hand just because the bastard gave him a couple sweet kisses after being a little rough with him. He fucked up. 

Now how was he gonna fix this huge fuckin power imbalance? 

Alastor had all the fucking leverage now, and that fact made him sick to his stomach. The bird in his chest had returned full force. 

He couldn’t even clean the jizz out of his fucking ass because he was too stupidly sensitive not to get turned on by his own touch and then fucking electrocuted for his efforts. “Dammit, fine, Smiles,” he growled, grinding his teeth as he heard the shuffling of clothing and a body slipping behind him. 

Lips on his shoulder-blade. He shivered at the feather-light kiss. Alastor ran a hand down his spine, pushed a finger into the clenching, raw hole. “Angel,” he said, voice gentler. “Je prendrai soin de toi.”

Oh shit. Angels knees became jelly in that moment. “Don’t speak French t’ me, ya asshole,” he groaned. “Just let me be pissed at ya.” 

The Radio Demon laughed and nibbled along his neck. Angel whimpered and braced himself against that boring tiled wall, rocking his ass back on the man’s skillful fingers and moaning pathetically into one of his hands. Angel knew, in that moment, he’d truly lost this fucking battle.

He would not lose the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Review 👁👄👁
> 
> ‘Twas a steamy chapter, I know. Hope ya’ll enjoyed!!!


	5. Double Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Nonconcensual kissing, dubious consent, fingering, biting, venom usage, general meanness and hurtful words, Alastor getting a small taste of his own medicine.
> 
> For Updates and general nonsense, feel free to follow me on Twitter @LadyInStarlight

Chapter 5

Alastor had him by the balls.

…Figuratively, of course.

Well, actually, sometimes… literally.

He wanted to touch himself— to run his hands over his own body, to stroke his own cock, and to ram something thick and vibrating into his own ass. He craved his fingers, his toys, and the euphoric bliss he could always drive himself towards. How did Alastor expect him to endure this… this lack of touch? His own touch. Any real touch. He needed it.

But he refused to fucking beg for it. Not again. 

Not after four days ago when his attempts to seduce the Radio Demon exploded in his face and obliterated his self confidence. Suffice it to say, subtlety was never Angel’s strong suit. He flirted, flounced, and teased, but Alastor remained positively immovable. Uninterested. 

Worse, his efforts were met with such a look of veiled disdain and irritation that he nearly folded in on himself in mortification. Did this fucker think he WANTED to pester his prudish ass for this shit? Of course not! He hated this… this dependency!

To be fair, Angel craved sex multiple times a day, whereas Alastor seemed to crave it once in a blue moon, so whenever Angel tried to persuade the other man, he usually found him uninterested. So much for being fucking pampered. 

What was worse, the more pressure he applied, the more disinterested Alastor appeared. True, the bastard’s tentacle-like shadows did most of the work, and that was all well and good for a while, but Angel found that the more he had to ask, the more awkward it became, and the more self conscious he felt about his own sexual appetites. He could feel Alastor judging him and it made him want to retreat. When those irritated, apathetic eyes studied his writhing body, suddenly the tentacles felt all wrong— invasive and slimy. 

Sometimes he wondered if maybe he was imagining things, if his anger towards Alastor for orchestrating this whole ordeal made him hypersensitive to every perceived slight, every off glance, but he didn’t fucking care. He was fucking pissed.

So fucking pissed.

Four days. He hadn’t been touched sexually in four days. Today marked a month since he found himself ensnared in that stupid deal with the Radio Demon. A whole month of half-hearted affection. A whole month of complete lack of autonomy over his own body and pleasure, but only in the last four days had he begun avidly avoiding the Radio Demon; ache between his thighs be damned. He was certain that Alastor, for his part, enjoyed the distance, a ‘break’— as he must see it— from Angel’s unwanted attentions.

The alcohol helped a little. He offered Husk a faint smile as he sipped his drink. He hadn’t bothered to dress up, clad in an oversized pink sweater that slunk off one shoulder and a pair of black yoga pants. He didn’t FEEL sexy. He felt… 

He took another sip of the candy-flavored drink, clearly crafted with care. Well, anyway, at least this helped, if only marginally. “Thanks, Husk,” he said, reaching out and squeezing the cat demon’s hand. “I really fuckin’ needed this.”

Husk blinked, flushing just slightly. “Sure thing,” he grumbled. “Angel, it’s not any of my business, but are you ok—“

“Greetings, gentlemen!” Alastor’s booming voice, all chipper with that transatlantic twang, sounded throughout the large room as if amplified on a loudspeaker. It was followed by a chorus of canned cheers and laughter from that grating cane of his. “I do hope I’m not interrupting. Husker, be a man and fetch me just a hair of the dog.”

A gloved hand settled on Angel’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He didn’t glance at Alastor as he slid from the barstool, still holding his drink, but those molten red eyes— so sharp and quick— pierced between the shoulder blades of his departing back. Heat. Burning. He wouldn’t linger to gauge the Radio Demon’s reaction to his minor slight, if you could even call it that.

Instead, he settled on the couch, nursed his vibrant drink, and chatted with Nifty, who snatched up his empty glass the second he hit ice.

“Have you SEEN the outfit Verosika Mayday wore on the cover of Splooge,” she said, practically bouncing on her heels as she cleaned. She vibrated with energy. “It was everything. EVERYTHING. Oh! You could definitely totally pull it off Angel!” A sudden gasp. Her single eye widened. “You have to buy it! You have the long legs!”

“I got the figure, but I dunno if the color would suit,” he said, sighing as he recalled the caution tape dress the pop star had worn for hell’s version of Cosmo. “Yellow don’t look great on me, ya know? Also, that bitch musta had body tape all over. Ain’t no way a tit didn’t pop out of that shit at least once.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Alastor settle in a high-backed maroon armchair and noticed the way the other man pointedly pulled out a thick, leather-bound book to read. Condescending prick. 

He needed to calm down. Getting angry for no fucking reason wasn’t gonna help him right now. What he needed was a distraction. He needed to release all this pent up, negative energy. Yeah, that’s what he needed. Nifty trotted off after a time, and he stood to leave as well, wondering if perhaps some retail therapy might be in order. The mall. He would go to Inferno Valley Mall and buy… fucking everything. But first he could use one more drink. 

The bar was empty. 

Where had Husk gone?

“Angel,” Alastor said, voice low. “Come here.”

A command.

Angel gritted his teeth. “Start again,” he said. “I don’t think ya meant t’ talk t’ me like that, now did ya?”

A brief pause.

Red eyes slid up from the page, and the look Alastor gave him… no. No. He had to stand his ground. He would not be bossed around. He glared back at the Radio Demon, unflinching.

Clawed fingers carefully closed the volume, setting it aside. A single digit beckoned him forward with no more than a small gesture. No words spoken. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to obey, or how he ended up standing in front of Alastor, squirming nervously in place.

“Level with me, my dear fellow,” Alastor said, taking his hand and pulling the spider into his lap. Angel shifted to get comfortable without sitting on the other man’s dick. “What’s eating you? Not begging for whoopee, as of late. Quite distant all around. I’m not complaining about the former, of course. Your persistent needs were becoming…” Angel could hedge a guess: Irritating, off putting, disgusting, annoying, ridiculous. “—Anyway, I do not appreciate the cold shoulder.”

“I guess I just don’t want ya anymore,” Angel said, shrugging. Maybe it wasn’t true, and maybe it was a little mean, but this had to end. He was ending it. 

Alastor went rigid. “Pardon?”

“Ya heard right,” he said, trying to slide out of Alastor’s arms, but finding the hold on his waist unflinching. Oh, well now any inkling of guilt tugging at the back of his mind was definitely fucking gone. Fuck this asshole. Fine, two could play at this game. He leaned in close and stroked Alastor’s cheek, hearing that hiss of Radio static. “I’d rather be alone and sufferin’ than let ya touch me. I don’t want ya. I don’t need ya. I’d electrocute my ass on anotha’ man’s dick before I let ya fuck me again. Capiche?”

“Baloney! Now now, Angel, don’t take any wooden nickels. No need to say something you might regret,” Alastor purred, but his smile—that wide toothy smile— faltered at the edges. 

“Oh? Ya don’t get it, do ya? I ain’t doin’ this anymore. I’m done with ya,” Angel said plainly. “What? Did ya think ya could control me with an ironclad hold on my cock? Did ya think I’d listen t’ ya then? Fuck you.” 

Red eyes narrowed, beginning to shift. He could feel the rage building behind that burning stare, but at least he was getting somewhere. “Angel, please calm down. You’re behavior at this moment is completely unacceptable.” Alastor’s lips found his neck, trying to coax him with tingling little kisses. He knew Alastor was restraining himself from biting, but fuck those kisses sent shivers down his spine, made his heart hammer in his chest

“No.” The word hung in the air. Hard. Firm. “Stop. Don’t touch me. Don’t kiss me. I. Don’t. Want. You.”

Alastor stopped. Did he look… hurt? Confused? The hold on Angel’s waist disappeared. He slid from the Radio Demon’s lap, all four arms wrapping around himself. “Very well, my effeminate fellow. When your mood is more keen, you may come apologize to myself properly and we shall see how we might move past this little tantrum of yours.”

“Ya sound like Valentino,” Angel snapped. “I’m just yer fuckin whore, Al. Well, I ain’t doin this shit again.”

“Take that back, Angel.”

“No.”

They were at a standstill, glaring at each other. 

The words, all hard edges, left Angel’s lips in a rush of music:

“ _Ya say you’re gonna pamper me,  
“as you see fit”.  
This deal is shit. _

_Ya wanna try t’ make me believe,  
This is somethin’ more,  
but I’m just your whore. _

_And I know these terms.  
I know these conditions.  
Try to wrap me around your finger,  
but I won’t listen. _

_No no no._

_Ya see, Val thought he could own me.  
You wanna CONTROL me;  
But, bitch, you’re just a simp;  
A Strawberry Pimp. _

_Big bad man,  
always in control,  
Stepped on,  
Stomped out,  
by his fluffy fruity ho. _

_I’m gonna break ya;  
Gonna make ya see,  
Ya really oughta not,  
Underestimate me! _

_Here’s the name of the game,  
That we’re gonna play:  
Ya got three days t’ make me say,  
I’m yours, i’m fine, and this is okay;  
By the way,  
You win? Ya get my soul.  
I win? I keep the whole. _

_No tricks, no traps, no turns of phrase.  
Make me need ya in those three days.  
Can ya put my mind back in that haze,  
Where all I crave is yer cock and praise? _

_Ya want a bitch, obedient and weak?  
Here’s yer chance t’ make me meek.  
So there.  
Sound fair?”_

Alastor beamed, eyes suddenly alight with mirth. His teeth seemed sharper, his smile broader, as if Angel had unknowingly offered him something positively delectable. “Very well, Angel,” he said, extending a gloved hand. Green lights swirled around them. “You have yourself a deal.” You never shake hands with the Radio Demon, and here Angel was about to do it for the second time. Well, whatever. Time to double down. When they shook hands the air in the room sparked and sizzled.

Angel smiled then, almost sweetly, and leaned in close enough to ghost his breath over Alastor’s lips. “The truth is, handsome, yer just a wannabe Pimp with no fuckin power over me,” he said, tone sugary sweet. “Ya can’t make me stay. Ya can’t make me ride ya dick. Ya can’t make me like ya or listen t’ ya. Ya can’t make me do anythin’. Fuck, it would hurt like hell, but I could start takin clients again, just t’ spite ya. This really is yer best fuckin option—“

It was like being struck by a wave, then tumbling and rolling under the surface of the water. Breathless. Terrifying. Strangely exhilarating. The kiss, hungry and possessive, knocked the wind out of him. He might have bent, might have buckled under the force of the burning need Alastor’s lips awakened in him.

But no.

Not this time.

Alastor was going to fucking learn here and now just who the fuck he was dealing with.

He grabbed the Radio Demon by the neck and shoved him, unceremoniously, back into his chair. His fingers remained wrapped around that slender throat in a gentle threat, while he nibbled Alastor’s lower lip, let their tongues dance, and hummed contently. It was all so easy. He trailed his lips along the Radio Demon’s jaw, sank his teeth into that unsuspecting nape, and then returned to their sloppy make-out session; green venom dripping from his fangs.

Angel’s smile widened as Alastor’s face flushed, plush red ears flattening against his head. Mr. High-And-Fucking-Mighty was putty in his hands. Perfect. He casually unzipped Al’s dark pants with his lower sets of hands and jerked them, underwear and all, completely from the other man’s trim form. They would see just how much the Radio Demon enjoyed being the vulnerable and exposed one for once. 

Angel remained standing. This way, he towered over Alastor, enjoying the rush of full control as his hand languidly massaged the red-tipped cock from base to tip. Alastor visibly shuddered, clearly struggling to regain his faculties, but bending to pleasure; or perhaps he was just desperate for tenderness after being told he wasn’t wanted. Angel wouldn’t linger on the thought. Those red eyes flicked briefly to the discarded pants on the ground in concern, but Angel squeezed the base of the weeping rod and quickened his pace, which proved an adequate enough distraction.

Then, Angel changed the game.

He grabbed the undersides of Alastor’s thighs and lifted them, very slowly, all the while deepening their heated kiss. He rubbed a thumb over the sensitive slit, teasing the mushroom head. Ah the advantage of four arms. Six, if he felt so inclined. He would really need to investigate that fluffy red tail at some point too. Interesting.

The poor Radio Demon hardly expected a finger to breach his tight little self-important asshole. The sharp gasp against Angel’s lips was enough proof he’d caught Alastor off guard. 

Panic. Those red eyes widened. Angel waited a beat, listened for the plea to stop, and when it did not come he smirked, slammed his finger in deeper, and massaged the spot he new would make Alastor keen like a bitch. He wasn’t disappointed. “Ahhh ahhhgnnn.” Hands flew to Angel’s shoulders. “W-what are—“

Angel added a second finger and began, with little hesitation or preamble, to thrust them into that clenching, spasming heat. Alastor’s back arched, eyes shut. Angel heard the softest whimper as claws cut into his shoulders. Unperturbed, he stroked the man’s cock in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

“Ya like that, Daddy?” he purred, sinking his teeth into Alastor’s neck again. A shaky sigh. “Eva’ had yer ass played with? Maybe if ya ‘assume the position’, I might even be inclined t’ fuck ya.”

Perhaps it was cruel, but he laughed when Alastor whimpered and came into his palm. So soon. He couldn’t resist tugging that dick and milking out each pathetic fucking drop.

Alastor’s eyes snapped open then; his smile gone. His chest began rising and falling rapidly. Panic. Shame. Shock. He was shaking. “N-No… I d-don’t want—“

Ah… fucking dammit. That fucking face did him in. Angel softened, looking down at the frazzled overlord through his lashes. So hurt. So terrified. So much cum. “It’s alright, Al. I won’t do nothin’ ya don’t want. Shhh shh,” he peppered kisses along the Radio Demon’s cheeks, his top set of arms wrapping around the trembling man while the lower pair redressed him. He never expected to get the infamous Radio Demon shaking THIS much. “I got ya. It’s okay, Smiles. Ya did so good. I’m right here, handsome.”

Some petting, kisses, and gentle words eventually soothed the Radio Demon enough to level out his breathing. In a flash, that mask of a permanent smile morphed back onto his features. But “weakness” had been shown, and Angel knew the Alastor would never forgive him for having seen it. 

He ran his fingers through Alastor’s hair, marveling at the way those crimson eyes gradually began to clear and burn with a potent mixture of rage, hunger, and… something else he couldn’t pinpoint. “Ya really oughta not underestimate me, Smiles,” he whispered in Alastor’s ear, smirking as it twitched. Just a little reminder. 

Alastor vanished and reappeared several feet away, clothing pristine and looking suddenly perfectly unruffled. “Very well, my dear fellow,” he said, his smile giving nothing away. “Why, since you are so confident in your prowess and self control I will stop holding myself back. What a spirited wager this has become!”

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Review 👁👄👁!!!👏👏👏


	6. Venom and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Toxic Behavior, Jealousy, Emotional Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Psychological Torture, Manipulative Behavior, Controlling Behavior
> 
> Twitter: @LadyInStarlight

Chapter 6 Venom and Blood

Day 1:

So he was bluffing, right? 

He had to be bluffing.

As the hours ticked by following their confrontation and Angel remained unharmed and untouched, he became steadily more assured of this fact. If he just kept his head down, dodged Alastor at every turn for the next three days, and maintained his composure, he would win this stupid fucking wager and regain control of his own fucking dick and ass.

And really, he didn’t NEED to worry, right? It wasn’t like the bastard could really convince him to say “I’m yours, I’m fine, and this is okay”. At the end of the day, for Alastor to win the wager Angel needed to agree… to give up his own soul willingly; duress and horniness notwithstanding. Sure, he agreed to a lot of stupid shit in the heat of the moment, but he wouldn’t sell his soul for a fuck, that was for damn sure. The more he thought about it, the less concern he felt. 

Why should he hide away like some scared little bitch? 

No. He wouldn’t hide. He wouldn’t cower. He wouldn’t let Alastor intimidate him with veiled threats or witty wordplay. He was gonna act like everything was just fuckin peachy, and they would just see how Alastor liked THAT.

He forgot to take into consideration that even if he planned to antagonize the Radio Demon by making himself visible, he would only be punishing himself if he agreed to attend some of the stupider shit Charlie placed on the hotel roster. Happy Hotel Movie Night was one such event. 

Sitting stock-still on the couch, staring hazy-eyed at the moving images on a projection screen Charlie had rolled in, Angel thought to himself that he had never been more bored in his entire life or afterlife. What’s worse, everyone else seemed to be enjoying the show and he had been asked more than once to put his hell phone away. 

He squirmed. Baxter shushed him. 

He pulled out his phone to check Voxtagram. Vaggie tossed him a glare from across the room that glowed brighter than his offensive phone screen. 

Sure, he could leave, but that would mean admitting defeat in this one-sided battle of wills. After all, Alastor sat ram-rod straight beside him, looking as amused and chipper as ever. His feral smile appeared utterly at ease, stretched wide from ear to ear. His sharp eyes flicked to Angel every time he wiggled or readjusted in his seat. 

It infuriated him to no end, seeing the bastard looking so… calm. 

A draft swept the room about 20 minutes into the picture show. A cold, icy chill. It made his fur stand on end; set his teeth chattering no matter how hard he tried to clamp them shut. He wished he had sleeves, pants… something other than breezy shorts and a crop top!

When those sharp red eyes flicked to him, he couldn’t help but draw his knees to his chest in discomfort. There were a million pornographic ways Alastor could use this situation to his advantage. Manifesting blankets so he could molest Angel beneath them was just one such possibility that briefly flashed across his naturally dirty mind. His heart hammered in his chest. He needed to leave quick.

Instead, he watched with wide eyes as the other man wordlessly removed his red cloak and draped it over Angel’s shoulders, wrapping him in the warm, soft material so quietly and casually that he found himself gaping open-mouthed at the unexpected gesture. 

For some odd reason, the speed at which his heart beat in that moment was tenfold what it had been just seconds before. The scent of Alastor’s cloak— oaky, masculine, and oddly comforting— set his chest aching, and the touch of crimson fabric against his skin felt like an embrace. It was pathetic, really, how easily he could be placated. “Thanks,” he whispered, offering the other Demon a sheepish smile before quickly averting his gaze to hide the faint flush he knew was forming on his cheeks and chest. Thank fucking goodness for dim lighting.

Someone shushed him. 

Annnnd now he was fucking pissed again. He opened his mouth to snap at the offending ‘shusher’, to let them know this was a real shitty way to watch a fuckin’ movie. What was the point of watching a movie with a group of pals if you weren’t laughing and yelling at the characters on the screen. What was the fucking point?!

But the sudden introduction of a gloved hand squeezing his own provided an instant distraction. The words dried up in his throat. Alastor didn’t so much as glance at him, facing forward while his eyes studied the flashing images on the screen, but his thumb stroked circles into Angel’s palm.

Angel glanced around the room. No one was looking their way, but if anyone chances a glance at them now… how would he explain this? He couldn’t blame champagne this time. He worried his lower lip between his teeth. Should he pull his hand away? 

No. He didn’t want to do that.

Instead, he returned the squeeze and leaned back against the plush maroon cushions of the couch, finally feeling himself relax. 

Relax.

Alastor’s thumb provided such a pleasant tingling sensation. He was hypersensitive to where they were conjoined, every little squeeze and circular sweep as soft as a kiss. His eyelids became heavy, so very heavy. Maybe… he would close them.

Only for a second, of course…

As the fog of contentment caused his mind to drift somewhere between states of consciousness and unconsciousness, he thought briefly that he might be falling, but something solid cushioned his head and the warmth intensified. Why did he feel so comfortable? He didn’t know. He nuzzled into the warmth, felt himself drawn closer to it.

Relax. Relax.

And then nothing. Sleep wrapped around him like an old friend. 

He was only torn away from the grips of pleasant sleep when a stark, blinding light replaced the darkness he’d been enjoying, and a high pitched squealing sound assaulted his ears. An alarm? A person? He groaned, squeezed his eyes tighter shut, and buried his face into something soft and pliant, like skin, feeling the faintest tickle of choppy hair brushing his face and shrouding his vision. 

Wait…

“Awww! I knew you two would become friends eventually,” he heard Charlie saying. Wait, what? He winced, blinking the sleep from eyes, and almost groaned aloud when he realized just whose neck he was nuzzling. Of course he’d used Alastor’s shoulder as a fucking pillow. Of fucking course. 

He sat up stiffly. “Sorry, Smiles,” he said shrinking under the many eyes directed at him. Fuck. First hangin all over Al at the party, and now this. Everyone was gonna… 

Oh. Oh wait a minute.

Everyone was gonna think he was just some starry-eyed bitch smitten with the fuckin Radio Demon. Well well, now wouldn’t that make any complaints or concerns he expressed later down the road far less believable? Wouldn’t that make people doubt him if he started throwing accusations around? He tilted his head, studied Alastor as the man stoically accepted his apology and told him “he really must learn to keep his hands to himself” and that Alastor “would make an exception this time because he believed Angel was so very handsy unconsciously.” No one else had felt that draft. He realized this as Alastor took back his cloak and commented on how odd it was that Angel should be so cold with all his fur. 

He watched Vaggie and a Charlie share a look, Vaggie shaking her head and appearing concerned while Charlie’s eyes widened in realization. 

Ah, a smear campaign.

Angel saw then a classic manipulator tactic brewing under the surface, and Alastor wasn’t even sullying his hands by saying anything about Angel to the others directly. 

It was interesting, really, seeing Alastor constructing the scaffolding of this narrative so subtly. 

Well, time to knock it down. 

He folded his hands in his lap and offered his sweetest, most apologetic smile. “Ya know what? I don’t think it’s alright at all,” he said— loud enough for the others to hear. “I know ya don’t like bein’ touched, and lately I’ve been real bad about invadin’ your personal space. I promise I’ll be better about it. I really am sorry, Al. Seriously, if I slip up again, let me know. Shove me off ya! Tell me t’ fuck off. I’m a fuckin idiot, but I don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable and it’s not acceptable fa me t’ be so touchy feely. I’m gonna be better about keepin t’ that five foot rule from now on.”

He slid off the couch, providing the man with those so often requested 5 feet of distance. Alastor’s red ears flicked back briefly, the edge of the smile twitching with irritation.

Charlie beamed, looking relieved and quite proud. Such an empathetic and thoughtful gesture!

He almost felt guilty it was all a performance.

But maybe it didn’t have to be. Not necessarily. He’d give Alastor plenty of fucking space, alright. 

Husk grumbled and stretched as he stood, arching a brow at the two men. “Just sit by me next time, legs,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t mind if ya have a little cat nap against my shoulder.” The flash of a playful, flirtatious smirk.

Angel flushed and grinned, opening his mouth to respond with some banter of his own.

However, the discord of radio static, with its hiss of white noise, garble of broken chatter, and shrill whine dipping in and out of frequency, assaulted his ears; loud as a gun shot too close to the head. The sound set his brain ringing. It hit him like a bus, causing him to stumble and crumble to his knees, clutching his hands over his ears.

“What the fuck, Al!” He could barely hear himself shout over the cacophony of sound. “Ya fuckin’ psycho! What the hell is the matter with you? Ya nearly blew out my fuckin eardrums!”

Eyes. So many watching eyes, Alastor tilted his head. Too far. His teeth seemed… sharper than usual. Was anyone else SEEING this shit? Then that expression shifted, miraculously mobile with the smile still attached, to one of baffled concern. “Angel, my effeminate fellow, I would apologize but I don’t rightly know what’s gone and upset you this time,” he said, tilting his head and tossing a glance at Charlie. “Have you perhaps taken anything that might—“

“I’m fuckin clean, ya twisted son of a bitch! Don’t ya try t’ fuckin’ undermine me!” He needed to stop playing Alastor’s game. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and took a deep breath, waiting for the noise to subside. His ears burned. The ringing… The ringing wouldn’t stop. 

Husk looked… uncertain, but one glance at Alastor and he regretfully backed away.

Charlie hurried to Angel’s side, full of worry. “Angel, are you… okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” he said, blinking when Alastor extended a gloved hand to him, a ‘chivalric’ offer to help him back onto his feet. He saw shadows extending around him like phantom limbs, saw something taunting and feral in those flashing eyes. Angel drew back perhaps a little too quickly. He realized he was suddenly very cold again. Shaking. “No!”

He saw the world twisting around him, images growing distorted, limbs elongating, smiles widening, and teeth sharpening. Faces seemed to shift, objects melted, and shadows blended into tentacles that slithered over his skin like snakes. It stung. It burned. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. 

A bad trip. It felt like a bad trip.

He clawed at Alastor when the man scooped him up and when that didn’t work, he tried to bite him, fangs dripping with green venom. The sight of that venom caused a few of the other housemates to gasp in horror. Angel had venom? 

He heard someone say the word “defanged”.

He thrashed, fought, kicked, and hissed; frustration and panic building with each passing second. He heard someone say that he must be high and he wanted to fucking sob. He wanted to scream louder. Alastor… had made him look… unhinged. 

What could he say? ‘This isn’t my fault. He’s MAKING me LOOK crazy. It’s not me, it’s him!’ Would they believe him? 

Baxter said he would do a drug test. There shouldn’t be any drugs in Angel’s system, but in that moment fear curled in his gut. What if… somehow there were? He looked into Alastor’s eyes, glowing high-definition in an otherwise blurry world, and felt the burning taunt smoldering under all that faux concern. He struggled to pull himself together, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

When he went still against Alastor’s chest, when he stopped thrashing and rested his head— whimpering— against one of those broad shoulders, that’s when the waking nightmare ended. No more monsters. No more radio static. No more melting world. 

Relief rolled over him in waves. He exhaled, a shuddering sigh mixed with a sob. Charlie tried to move him from Alastor’s lap, apologizing awkwardly to the Radio Demon. Angel clung tighter to the man with both sets of arms, a spike of terror striking him as the world began to shift the second he drew back even slightly from Alastor. 

He must seem fucking nuts, he realized. A regular fucking crackpot. He laughed as that thought struck him. A broken little laugh mixed with a sob. He couldn’t stop fucking laughing. Maybe he WAS the crazy one.

No.

No. He would not let that thought stick in his head. He looked up into those piercing red eyes, studied his own trembling reflection in them: scared, vulnerable, pathetic.

No. He would not question his own sanity. He knew he was being played. “Smiles,” he said, voice a cracked whisper. 

And then he was wrenched from the safety of those arms and the world shattered all over again. 

Had he been screaming for hours or minutes? He didn’t know. Time ran together. The tentacles slid over his throat, wrapped around it, threatened to choke him. At different moments people’s faces would morph into those of long lost family or friends, only to shift back the moment the sight and sound brought him too much comfort, and then his wails could not be soothed or comforted by anything. He was… so tired. 

Laughing shadows. Tilting walls. Teeth and eyes everywhere.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, rocked himself, and shuttered. 

“This is torture,” he said aloud, watching Charlie speak to Alastor in a hushed voice across the room, her hands clutched nervously in front of her, glancing towards Angel every few seconds. 

“What did you do to piss him off, kid,” Husk whispered, wandering over with some water. “He’s got it out for you.”

Thank Satan. He definitely wasn’t fucking crazy. 

Husk froze as those red eyes snapped towards them. They narrowed. Alastor swiveled on his heel and bounced jauntily up to the pair. “I hate to interrupt this riveting conversation,” he said with a tight-lipped smiled. He leaned down, opening his arms for Angel, and the spider nearly leapt into the sanctuary, tangling his legs around the man’s waist and his arms around his neck. Sweet fucking relief. The world finally righted itself. He buried his face into Alastor’s neck. “I’ll be taking our poor, overwrought patient to bed while he overcomes this nasty little drug trip of his.”

“Ya know, I could watch him,” Husk said easily. “Since you don’t exactly think highly of him and he might feel more comfortable with someone he trusts.”

Charlie perked up, opening her mouth to speak.

“No.” The word sounded a lot like a snarl coming from Alastor’s lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Husk asked with a shrug, crossing his arms. “Just hand him over. Unless, of course, you’re enjoyin’ all that crying and clinging?”

“I suggest you drop this conversation, Husk,” Alastor hissed. The words were a low growl. “In fact, I command it.” Silence. Husk’s ears flattened. He stepped back. A bottle of cheap booze manifested itself on the bar. “Ha! Now, I believe you have other things to do, don’t you, my dear fellow? Mind your own potatoes, Husker, and try not to get too splifficated!”

And just like that, another possible obstacle to the Radio Demon’s fickle whims was neutralized.

Alastor’s brocade comforter was soft against his back. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Angel stared up at the ceiling. “I hate you,” he said, testing the words on his tongue and deciding that in that moment they were true. “I really… liked ya… and now… I hate you. Fuckin’ overlords. You’re all… evil.”

“Assume the position,” Alastor said simply, removing his coat and setting it aside. 

A silence.

Angel stared at that rigid back. “No,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the nightmares all around him. “I told ya. I’d rather electrocute myself on anotha’ man’s cock than give my ass up t’ you. I’m holdin’ out fa a fella, and if ya recall I ended things with ya the otha’ day. We ain’t t’getha’ anymore, Al. When this deal ends and I get my body back to myself, I’ll be free of ya. I’ll leave the hotel if I hafta. I’ll find someone who… treats me nice and you’ll just hafta find a new hole t’ use when the mood strikes. I was happy… when ya held my hand t’day. So fuckin’ stupid.” 

His chest ached. Everything hurt. His heart hurt. “Ha! No,” Alastor said, shaking his head and gliding over to Angel. He smiled down at him, mirth dancing in that dangerous, flashing gaze. He took Angel’s chin in hand and tilted it up, studying his features. “Such an earful you’ve given me! And here I thought ‘I really oughta not underestimate’ you. You’re the one who instigated this, my effeminate fellow. Don’t start casting a kitten just because the game has suddenly become more than you can handle.”

“You’re tryin t’ BREAK me!” Angel half screamed, half sobbed.

“I’ll put you back together again when it’s all over, more obedient than before ideally,” Alastor said, kissing him gently. The kiss proved to be his one mistake.

Angel tangled his fingers in Alastor’s crimson hair, deepening the kiss. Heat sizzled between them as he pulled the man on top of him, tongue dancing. He kissed him until he was breathless and flushed. He kissed him until he panted for air, ears fluffy ears lying flat. “You’re fuckin pathetic,” Angel said softly, hissing the words in Alastor’s ear. He slid a clawed finger down the man’s spine, felt him shiver. “Ya think I don’t notice what a weak little fuck you are? Hm? Go ahead. Use your stupid fuckin powers. Break my fuckin mind. Make everyone think I’m fuckin crazy. Just remember WHY you’re doin it.” He cupped Alastor’s balls through his slacks, squeezing them. A groan and gasp of pain. “You’re fuckin obsessed with me just like every otha’ man in hell, baby. Ya ain’t nothin’ special.”

He watched those red eyes widen in horror, the realization seeming to suddenly strike Alastor alongside the full weight of his actions. That, and perhaps he finally saw the extent of the hatred burning in Angel’s gaze, the honest malice in his smile.

“How can… I fix this?” He said, panic causing his chest to rise and fall rapidly. “How can I make you stop hating me? Make you stay… even if you… win?”

Well now they were getting somewhere. Angel sat up and leaned against the headboard. He stroked Alastor’s cheek, rubbed a thumb over his lips. That twitching, tight-lipped smile, barely maintained. “Yer gonna go out there and tell Charlie I’m not crazy. That I wasn’t seeing shit fa no reason. Tell her ya lost control of your powers… maybe even say the truth, it happened because you’re a jealous little bitch.” He saw Alastor cringe, watched those eyes narrow. “Spruce it up as ya see fit, handsome. Blame your cane or your shadows. Tell her ya didn’t realize it until now when we talked about it and I gave ya more details. Give her some bullshit excuse fa why this happened without ya knowin. I don’t give a fuck. Just make it clear I ain’t fuckin crazy and this is YOUR FAULT.” He tangled his fingers in Alastor’s hair and yanked his head back. The whine sounded delicious. “Now, tell me the truth. How do ya feel about me, ya stupid bastard?”

“Angel… I don’t… I—“ Wild eyes struggling for escape. Words stumbling over themselves to find an answer that would maintain his pride but also get him exactly what he wanted.

“Don’t think. Just say it.” Angel commanded. “Now.”

“I’m in l-Love with you.” The words cracked with shame. That transatlantic accent never sounded more pleasing than when it was stuttering. 

“How long have ya known?”

“6 m-months.” 

Angel sighed, released Alastor, and rubbed his own temples. “Alright. Go talk t’ Charlie. Ya have ten minutes.” He slid off the bed, waiting for Alastor’s brain to catch up with the command. “If ya do good, maybe I could be convinced t’ give you something nice t’night. Maybe I could even be convinced not t’ immediately bounce if I win the bet.”

Alastor vanished and reappeared less ruffled than before, clearing his throat and straightening his bow tie in front of the mirror. It seemed he was having a harder time than usual containing that flush. “A-ah yes. Ab-so-lute-ly,” he said, voice strained. “I will speak with her right away. Ha…”

Angel saw the stiffness in those shoulders. The shame and self disgust in the way Alastor looked at his own reflection. He draped his arms around the Radio Demon, meeting the gaze of the man’s mirror image as he kissed his cheek. “Thank ya, Daddy,” he purred, nuzzling Alastor’s cheek while one of his hands stroked a soft red tufted ear. “Ya know, I was neva’ unfaithful, by the way. Mr. Reliable is a literal fuckin vibrator and I didn’t sleep with anyone else.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought ya were enough, and then ya fucked everythin up with your jealous bullshit. Ya hurt me.”

Crimson eyes widened. Regret. Shock. Horror. “Angel—“

“We can keep playin the game, but let’s make one thing clear. Win or lose, what am I, Al? Your whore or your queen?” 

A spark. A blaze of amusement. 

There now. Someone was feeling better.

“My Queen.”

No hesitation. 

Much better.

They looked good together in that mirror. An interesting tableau. Alastor’s sinister smile expanded across his handsome features while Angel, fierce and striking, draped around him, studying the man with hooded eyes under long lashes. 

“Vox and Val can eat their hearts out,” Angel teased. “Ya know, I think we make a prettier picture, you and I.” Alastor turned his head and kissed him, a long slow kiss. Angel nipped his lip and returned the kiss with equal passion.

Venom and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Reviewwwww 👁👄👁❤️💕
> 
> Do it. Do it. Do it.


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